


Bird on the Wire

by yumi_michiyo



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Explicit Language, F/F, Idiots in Love, Plenty of f-bombs being dropped, Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, more tags to be added as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumi_michiyo/pseuds/yumi_michiyo
Summary: Quinn had thought labor ended when the baby was born. But life, as Quinn knows it, is about to change... again.A story about family and other problems. S1 canon divergence. High school!AU. Multichapter slowburn Faberry.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 31
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All thanks go to _**Mike Ownby**_ for his very important work in Americanizing this chapter (including the important background details that make it believable and realistic). The story title comes from the late great Leonard Cohen's [_Bird on the Wire_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BqGArXHDOKY).
> 
> Detailed story notes, meta, background trivia, and more can be found on my [Tumblr](https://yumi-michiyo.tumblr.com/).

Quinn stares up at the ceiling, seeing nothing.

She'd been stupid to think that all her problems would go away when the baby was out of her belly and in a crib. Because now what? What happens next? Quinn's fingers clench the stiff white hospital blanket as panic settles in, the question spinning in her brain.

Keep the baby? Laughable. She has no home of her own; Mercedes and her family had only opened their home to one pregnant teenager, not a teenage single mom and her baby. Not to mention food, bills, school for her – _if_ she could even go back to school, now that she's got a tiny soul that's completely dependent on her.

Fuck this shit. She's screwed.

In the middle of her mental breakdown, footsteps warn Quinn there's someone outside. She ignores it; it's probably a nurse or doctor walking past, because no one is going to visit her. She hasn't had any visitors since she was admitted to the hospital – and the Glee club don't count, since they delivered (her lip twists at the unintentional pun) her there.

"Quinn?"

Wait – she knows that voice. Quinn is so surprised, she says: "Yeah?"

Rachel walks into the ward, looking contrite around a large bouquet of flowers. Quinn groans inwardly, regretting answering her; Rachel Berry is the very last person on Earth that she wants to see now. She wasn't thinking right, she should've pretended she was asleep. "Berry," Quinn greets her flatly.

"Hi, Quinn," she starts hesitantly, "I hope you're feeling better today. I apologise I did not accompany you to the hospital yesterday as someone had to remain at Regionals to ensure we weren't disqualified for having the entire team leave – "

"Spare me the lecture, Berry, and say what you came here to say," interrupts Quinn tiredly. She barely tolerates Rachel's verbosity normally; now, exhausted after performing onstage, giving birth, and now struggling with her personal crisis, Quinn just wants her to be gone.

Rachel's mouth closes, then opens again. "Never mind. I see that you're still rather tired, and undoubtedly cranky as a result. I merely came to offer my congratulations on delivering a healthy baby, and inquire about your health."

"Well, I'm still alive and talking to you, aren't I?" Quinn retorts.

"That's true." Much to her surprise, Rachel offers her a small smile. "I took the liberty of stopping by the nursery on my way to see you. Your daughter is beautiful."

"Don't call her that." Quinn pushes down the wave of nausea that she thought she'd left behind in the morning sickness phase.

"Your daughter?"

Quinn scowls. "She's not my daughter. That's just the real-life consequence of me making the biggest mistake of my life, and I don't just mean getting pregnant. Sleeping with _Noah Puckerman_ would be the highlight of the shame reel." Calling the baby anything but _the baby_ , in Quinn's logic, would mean acknowledging the attachment, and that could have disastrous results.

She's not a mother. The baby isn't her daughter.

Rachel frowns. Quinn turns her face away and ignores her. Even though she's not exactly on speaking terms with God at the moment, Quinn prays for the strength to stay put in her hospital bed. It's too tempting to choke the life out of Rachel if she were to open her huge mouth to say something utterly maddening; but luckily, Rachel says nothing.

"I think you should leave," says Quinn after a pause.

"... Yes. If you want."

"I _definitely_ want."

"But at the very least," Rachel continues, "you should see her once, regardless of whether you choose to keep her or not. I like to think that was what my mo – Shelby did before she walked out of my life."

And she's gone before Quinn can throw her stupid flowers back into her _stupid_ face. She makes a frustrated noise and stares back up at the ceiling again. _Of course_ Rachel had to mention the Mom of the Year lifetime achievement award winner, Shelby Corcoran. And now it's impossible for her not to think about Shelby and see the horrible possible parallels between her and – _the baby_ – twenty years from now.

But Rachel, annoyingly enough, does have a point. Giving away a baby clearly unhinged Shelby Corcoran, and possibly Rachel too. Quinn tries not to picture an older version of herself facing a sixteen-year-old clone and fails miserably.

Damn Rachel Berry.

Quinn sits up gingerly. Perhaps she should do this. One look, so she can rid herself of any residual guilt. She can do this, she was Head Cheerio under Sue Sylvester; she's capable of surviving for a week in the wilderness alone, armed with only a penknife. Getting out of bed to see the baby she just pushed out of her body should be child's play.

The nurse had left a fluffy pink dressing gown on the chair beside her bed in case she had to leave the room. She pulls it on now, despite the horrific hue and the cloying smell of detergent. Quinn grits her teeth. Every muscle hurts as though she's run a marathon, or survived one of Sue's special Cheerios conditioning sessions. She makes a mental note never to give birth again – no, never to have sex again.

Quinn shuffles outside, keeping a wary eye out for Rachel. It's unlikely that the other girl would be lurking somewhere waiting to ambush her, but Quinn's learned not to underestimate her.

It's relatively easy to make her way to the nursery, but Quinn takes a moment before she approaches the glass panel. She screws up her eyes, breathing in and out, gathering all her courage to look. Damn Rachel Berry a thousand times; if not for her and her stupid bio-mom, Quinn could've spent the rest of her day in private agony instead of public agony. She could've had her mental breakdown in peace.

But once she looks, she just _knows_.

Quinn doesn't need a tag or whatever to find her – _the baby_. Her eyes are drawn to the bundle of pink on the left, second from the front. There's a tiny hand poking out, and – _oh_ – five perfectly-formed little fingers.

She made this. After a long list of failures and mistakes, she – Quinn Fabray – made this perfect little human being. Her eyes well up with tears. It's not fair. She didn't get anything she wanted, but this single damned mistake turns out perfect.

Quinn leans her forehead against the cool glass. "Damn you," she murmurs.

"Quinn? Are you alright?"

Quinn closes her eyes. "Do you _honestly_ want me to answer that?" she grits out. She's tired of Rachel showing up and poking her nose where it's not welcome. Especially now, when it's stabbing into what's left of her determination to exit the hospital, finally baby-free; and especially when it's the second time she has to deal with Rachel in less than an hour. "Do I _look_ alright to you?"

Rachel tilts her head to the side, looking like she's seriously pondering the question.

"... That was a rhetorical question, Berry. Stop thinking so hard, you'll burn out that one remaining brain cell of yours," snaps Quinn.

She actually laughs a little at that, much to Quinn's disappointment. "You're right. I should have realized it earlier. Daddy was right; he says I should interact with more people my age and pick up colloquial speech patterns so I can better integrate with my peers."

"Just can it. Oh my God, I don't know what it is about you that thinks people actually want to listen to the sounds coming out of your mouth." The word _Daddy_ hurts her more than she thought possible, and Quinn lashes out like she's accustomed to doing over the past seven months.

Much to Quinn's growing frustration, Rachel seems to take it in her stride. "I should inform you that I'm not holding anything you say against you this week. You've been through a stressful and traumatic time, and I am certain you require moral support. Since all of our fellow Glee clubbers happen to be busy today, I'm here to provide that social interaction you undoubtedly need."

"I don't need moral support or social interaction, least of all _yours_." Quinn hisses. She tries to channel as much pre-baby Quinn levels of bitchiness as possible; it always seemed to be effective in scaring Rachel away. But sadly, her hideously pink gown and current emotional state doesn't seem to be doing her any favors. "I'm pretty sure you'd rather be somewhere else getting teeth pulled than here. Don't let me keep you."

Rachel says in a milder tone: "I apologize; I think you may have misunderstood me. I'm here because I _want_ to be here. I assure you no one's holding a gun to my head and forcing me to interact with you." She holds out a hand. "Let's make a deal. I'll keep quiet – something that requires a great deal of effort on my part, admittedly, but I'll do it if you want me to – and you'll try to minimize the nasty comments?"

Through the wall of text, Quinn discerns "keep quiet" and is immediately sold. "Yeah, deal," she says, pretending she doesn't see Rachel's hand, turning to gaze through the glass window at the baby in the fuzzy pink blanket. "You know which one she is?"

If Rachel's happy that _the baby_ has been promoted to _she_ , she doesn't show it – or at least, transparently enough for Quinn to catch. Rachel just gives her an exasperated look, and steps forward, looking at Quinn intently, before turning her attention to the bassinets. Too late, Quinn remembers Rachel saying she'd already stopped by before visiting Quinn.

After a beat, she makes the mistake of looking at Rachel to see her reaction, because the other girl _melts_ upon catching sight of the baby. Her mouth forms a little 'o' but – amazingly, given that it's Rachel Berry – she doesn't say anything. Rachel clasps her hands before her, smiling at both Quinn and the baby. Even Quinn can't pretend she doesn't read Rachel's body language clearer than day.

"She's just a baby, Berry," she says, rolling her eyes. "There are like, ten of them in the ward. I'm sure you've seen one before. Calm down."

Rachel shakes her head minutely, glancing back between Quinn and her baby, as though to say: _But she's_ your _baby, Quinn, and that makes all the difference._

Quinn can't imagine what's worse; that she's able to _hear_ Rachel's thoughts, or that she's tearing up because of them. She dabs her eyes on the sleeve of her hideous gown. Damned hormones. So much for thinking they'd stop wreaking havoc on her body once she was no longer pregnant.

They stand, side by side, focused on the baby. Rachel keeps her hands to herself – something Quinn is infinitely grateful for.

A nurse notices them and bustles out. "Which one's yours?"

Rachel points. Mostly, it's because Quinn is rooted to the spot, mind whirling with excuses how she's going to get out of this mess.

"Do you wanna hold her?"

Quinn is horrified. Rachel is – whatever the opposite of horrified is. But she's nodding at the nurse, and _still_ not saying anything. Quinn wants to tear her apart with her bare hands for being so utterly infuriating.

By the time she's regained some self-control, Rachel's holding a bundle of fuzzy pink baby blanket, beaming as though she's just been presented with the Tony award she's always talking about.

And Quinn stays rooted to the spot. She watches as Rachel's entire face is transformed; she coos at the baby, whispering things she can't hear, a finger poised over the opening of the blanket.

She thinks she might lose it when Rachel's finger parts the blanket to show the baby's face; round and soft, with the bluest eyes.

Then the baby yawns.

Quinn bursts into tears. "I can't," she mumbles over and over again.

* * *

So apparently, after that little breakdown she had, she's not allowed at the maternity ward without supervision, and said supervision happens to be either the on-duty nurse or Rachel Berry. Quinn doesn't blame the maternity nurse. She wouldn't allow herself to be with the baby unsupervised either.

But the entire situation has her kicking herself; between a jagged, flesh-rending steel trap, and Rachel Berry, she'd pick the trap any day. The trap just tears off flesh, and flesh grows back eventually. Rachel tears her walls down, brick by brick, and leaves her vulnerable.

Rachel insists on walking her back to her bed. Quinn doesn't have the energy to fight her, so she just trudges along, Rachel trailing behind her.

At this point, Quinn's somewhat aware that all this hatred isn't healthy. But she has enough to be dealing with right now, and so she mentally files it away for later.

"You're upset."

"I thought," says Quinn tightly, " _someone_ agreed to shut _up_."

"I'm quite aware of that, Quinn, but this is important." Rachel darts in front of Quinn, blocking her path. "Are you sure?"

"Sure of what?" She sidesteps Rachel – only to scowl when Rachel neatly stands in front of her again. "Out of my way, Berry."

"You can't give her up!"

Quinn glares at her. "Yes, I can. It's my decision."

"Noah – "

"– _Puckerman_ is the idiot who knocked me up. He doesn't get a say in this. He'll agree with me; there's no way two dumb kids are gonna be able to look after a baby." Quinn takes a deep breath. "He's not the baby's father. I'm not the baby's mother. That's that." She steps to the right this time. "Now _move_."

Rachel blocks her path again. "You won't have to do this alone. I'll help."

"Yeah? In case you haven't noticed, Berry, because you talk like a thesaurus and dress like a granny, you're a kid too."

"Hear me out, Quinn; my dads are more than happy to help. Between the four of us, I'm sure we can work something out."

Quinn halts. Eyes deadly, she hisses: "Berry. Listen up, and listen good." In her anger, she takes a step forward, and Rachel retreats. "The baby is _not_ your family pet project. She is a human being, not some – _poster child_ , for the joys of adoption and gay parenting. You don't have to pity me just because I'm _that_ walking high school cautionary tale. We don't need anyone, so thank you for the offer, so you can take it back and shove it up your – " she cuts herself off when she notices how _terrified_ Rachel looks. Quinn exhales through her nose slowly; for some reason, being a bitch to Rachel doesn't make her feel as good as she thought it would. "... Whatever. We're done here."

This time, when she strides back to her room, Rachel doesn't follow her.

* * *

She's dreading being discharged. Besides the relatively small matter (and it _is_ small relative to a small planet) of paying the bill, she has tons of other things on her mind. Once she's out of the hospital, she'll have things like a place to stay and food to worry about.

The next time the nurse comes in to check on her, she ventures the question timidly: "Um… how much will I have to pay?"

The nurse frowns. "Your parents will take care of that; you're a little too young to be worrying about that kind of thing, aren'tcha?"

"They aren't paying," says Quinn flatly. She will take no shit from a patronizing nurse.

"But your mom checked you in, didn't she?"

"And that's about as far as it went." Her mother hasn't been back since she'd had the baby, and Quinn isn't about to impose on someone who let her be kicked out once before. She can take a hint.

The nurse clucks disapprovingly. "You can't be more than sixteen. That's nowhere near old enough to be worrying about this stuff."

"I'm certainly old enough to have a baby and be kicked out of my home," replies Quinn dryly. "So figuring out how I'm gonna pay my hospital bills with no money should be a cinch, right?"

"... right," says the nurse awkwardly. "If that's the case, I'll have someone come talk to you about financing. Alright?"

"Thank you."

An hour later, a lady in a neat suit enters Quinn's ward. "Ashley Cummings," she says, offering her hand to Quinn. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name, Quinn."

Quinn likes this woman instinctively. She doesn't talk down to Quinn, or treat her like she's a child. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Cummings."

"Ashley, please. I hear that since you're old enough to deliver a child on your own, you're certainly old enough to talk business with me." All this is delivered in a crisp, business-like manner.

She didn't think it was possible, but Quinn likes her even more.

"So… it says here that you're due to be discharged this Thursday," says Ashley, flipping through the file she brought with her. "Are you looking forward to going home?"

"I'm eager to leave, yeah," answers Quinn neatly, dodging the question. "About my bills, well… how much are they? 'Cause I don't have any money, and I was sorta kicked out of my parents' house so I don't think they'll pay…"

Ashley blinks at her. "Oh, dear," she says. "I think there must have been some misunderstanding. I'm not here about financing; I'm here because I heard you want to put your baby up for adoption. All your bills have already been paid for in full."

"By who?"

"By… " She flips through the stack of papers. "A Mr Leroy Berry."

* * *

When Rachel walks through the door of her ward with another ridiculously oversized bouquet and a grin, Quinn has never felt so simultaneously furious and anxious to see her. "Berry!"

The grin falls off Rachel's face instantly. Luckily, the flowers don't follow suit, and she is quick to set them down on the chair by Quinn's bedside. "Uhm… good afternoon, Quinn?"

"Your dad paid for my hospital bills." It's not a question, but a damning statement of fact.

Rachel reacts in a way she hasn't been expecting. "He… what?"

"This lady from the hospital came to talk to me earlier today," says Quinn tightly. She has never been one to suffer fools, and Rachel is currently the court jester. "She said someone called Leroy Berry paid off all my bills, and – newsflash! There're only three people named Berry in this town, and guess who's one of them?"

"Quinn, I swear, I had no idea," says Rachel shakily. "I didn't tell Dad to do anything."

Judging from her shocked expression, Quinn has an inkling that she's telling the truth; paradoxically, Rachel is an excellent actress but she's terrible at hiding her feelings normally. But Quinn pushes aside her instincts, focusing on her punching bag. "Yeah? Then he decided today was Help a Poor Disowned Ex-Pregnant Teenager Day? Out of the goodness of his heart? Don't play dumb, Berry. I know you think you're a great actress, but this is a new low for you."

"Stop that!"

Quinn pauses, startled. The color is back in Rachel's cheeks, her eyes bright. "You take that back, Quinn Fabray," snaps Rachel. "My fathers are the most generous, caring, loving men I have been privileged to have been raised by. If they've done something as generous as that, even without my knowledge or agreement, I will trust their decisions unconditionally. You may make fun of me, my wardrobe, even my gender as you and your cronies have often done, but I will _not_ stand here and let you insult them." She points at Quinn. "Am I clear?"

And Quinn is too surprised by this show of backbone to manage anything more than a nod, before Rachel spins on her heel and marches back out.

Before Quinn has a chance to process the tirade, Rachel comes back in. Jaw set and tight-lipped, she disposes of the old flowers in the vase, picks up the flowers from the chair, trims them, and sets them in water. And the instant it's done, all without a word to Quinn, she leaves again.

* * *

The next day, a tall black man in a policeman's uniform enters the ward, and the first thing Quinn can think to say is: "Uh, am I in some kind of trouble?"

He turns his stern gaze on her – and chuckles, which completely destroys his image. "No, Miss Fabray. I'm Leroy Berry, Rachel's father."

"Oh." Then she remembers. "Oh! Er – good afternoon, sir."

He chuckles again. "Good afternoon. Rachel said you were a very polite young lady."

Quinn bites her lower lip. She's not quite sure what else Rachel has said about her – _not as_ _polite_ moments. Plus, she's pretty sure she watched something in those procedural cop shows about not incriminating yourself in casual conversations.

Leroy glances at the chair beside the bed. "May I sit?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." He sits, setting his policeman's hat on his knee. "Miss Fabray, my daughter told me you've talked to the hospital administrator regarding your medical bills."

"You paid them," says Quinn.

"I did."

"Why? No offense, but – you don't know me. And frankly speaking, I haven't been the nicest person to Rachel. Um, I'm sorry about that, by the way," Quinn adds, with a nervous glance towards his side holster.

"Don't thank me. It was Help a Poor Disowned Ex-Pregnant Teenager Day," replies Leroy very seriously.

Quinn goggles at him, wondering if she's stepped into some parallel universe without realizing it. But if she has, it sucks majorly as far as parallel universes go; she's still disowned and formerly pregnant, with Rachel Berry's cop father – the one who paid her hospital bills – sitting at her bedside.

Then Leroy starts laughing. "Goodness, girl, I was only joking. You're a serious one, aren't you?"

She manages a weak smile.

His expression goes back to stern. "I may joke, but that doesn't mean I'm ignorant of, or that I've excused your treatment of Rachel over the past two years."

The smile vanishes. Quinn gulps and nods.

"However, that doesn't mean we're going to begrudge you help. We certainly have the means to support two teenagers – and theoretically a baby." Leroy stands, putting on his hat and adjusting it. "Rachel mentioned you've been staying with the Joneses."

"Yes, sir."

"Will you be going back to their home?"

Quinn presses her lips together. Mercedes and her parents had visited her in the morning. They were more than happy to let Quinn stay for as long as she needs, but she doesn't want to be a burden on them, even though she doesn't exactly have a choice. It's this certainty that she doesn't want to cause more trouble for the Joneses than she already has – ironic, given how uncertain everything else is – that makes Quinn say: "I don't know."

Leroy nods. "Rachel has informed me when you'll be discharged. We'll be picking you up and driving you to the Joneses, or to any other place you want. But you're also welcome to stay with us."

"Did Ber – " Quinn clears her throat and corrects herself, "– did Rachel ask you to help me?"

"No. As a matter of fact, she was very adamant that Hiram – my husband – and I not help you in any shape or form when she told us about you. Something about you being very proud and independent, and that you wouldn't accept charity." Leroy grimaces. "Believe me, she gave me quite the earful for paying your bills without her knowledge."

"Then why…?"

"I was your age once, Miss Fabray – Quinn. Believe me, it's not easy being that young and alone in the world. Also, it's not charity." He smiles at her, but there's no amusement in the thin line of his mouth. "I fully expect you to pay off the debt in full once you've been discharged."

"I…"

"We can work out the details of the repayment afterwards," he says placidly, as though Quinn hasn't spoken.

"Repayment?"

He levels a deeply exasperated look at her, and Quinn knows now where Rachel gets that particular expression from. "Yes, repayment. If you won't take charity from us, consider it a loan. Now, I need to get back to the station. Have a good day, Quinn." Leroy nods at her.

"Mr Berry?"

He pauses.

"I don't know why you did it, but… thank you, sir." Quinn fidgets with the sleeves of her cardigan. "I know that you don't have any reason to like me because of how horrible I've been to Rachel, but I really appreciate you doing this."

Leroy turns around, and just looks at her for a long moment. "Please," he says at last, "call me Leroy. But only because it'll be confusing calling my husband and me Mr Berry."

Quinn doesn't know how to respond to that.

* * *

Quinn is up early on Thursday. She hasn't got a lot to pack; Mercedes brought only the essentials to the hospital, like her books, and a worn stuffed lamb she keeps tucked under her pillow.

The duffel bag isn't even half-full once she's done. She honestly doesn't mind.

Ashley arrives at nine sharp. "All ready to go, I see," she says, nodding at Quinn.

"Yes, ma'am."

She chuckles. "Good to hear. Now, I need you to come with me down to reception to fill out a few exit forms. The usual protocol for patient discharge…" Ashley flips through her clipboard. "And, uh, adoption papers for your baby."

Quinn feels an unpleasant lump form in the pit of her stomach. "Will it take long?"

"Not really. You'll need to read and sign some forms required by the county and state governments. The standard waivers of your parental rights – that means that you give up any claims to your baby. There are a few forms stating your preference of adoption that need your signature. That means you can opt for an open or closed adoption," she quickly explains for Quinn's benefit.

"Parental rights?" She hadn't thought it would be this simple, and yet so complicated. The baby was hers; she had carried it for nine long months, through four different homes. And Quinn would break that connection by signing her name on the bottom of some generic government form. She would invalidate that tiny person with her jaw, with Noah Puckerman's cheeky smile, who might have the same hazel eyes in the future.

She's not a mother, but that's her baby.

"Take all the time you need to think about it, Quinn," says Ashley, as though sensing Quinn's thoughts. "That's a big decision you're making."

"Yeah. I know. But I'm sure." She shoulders her bag and follows Ashley to the reception counter, where she's handed a packet of forms. It's more than a little overwhelming, and Ashley seems to sense that; the hospital administrator gently takes the packet from Quinn's hands and starts thumbing through them.

"Would you like to sit down? This could take a while."

"No, thank you." The sooner she's done, the sooner she's _done._ Quinn grits her teeth, desperately holding herself together.

Ashley nods. She pushes a form closer to Quinn. "This waives all legal claim you have to your baby," she says, "and you just need to sign here." Ashley makes an 'x' beside the line at the bottom of the page, and flips to the next form. "This is a declaration that you agree to let a state-appointed social worker handle all adoption proceedings, like vetting potential adopters, etc."

Quinn nods mechanically at each one as she absorbs all the information. There are so many things she'd never imagined, tied to something as simple as getting drunk with Noah Puckerman.

Ashley clears her throat, setting down the pen. "That should be it. All yours, dear."

Quinn nods mechanically and picks up the pen. She tries to sign her name on the first dotted line, but finds that her hand doesn't move.

"Can I… ask you something?" Her own voice startles her, but it seems to startle Ashley more; the older woman blinks rapidly and nods.

"Certainly. Of course, Quinn – I'd be more surprised if you _didn't_ have any questions." She brings her hands together. "Ask away."

"If I… if I chose not to sign these, would I…" Her voice falters. "Would I still… get to keep her?"

The administrator looks at her carefully. Quinn feels like she's a pot of water on the stove, and Ashley's waiting for her to boil.

"Yes, Quinn," says Ashley at length. "You'd still have to fill out the discharge papers…" she points at the relevant forms that are stacked to one side, "... but she'd be your baby, and your legal rights as her mother would still be intact." Ashley's smile softens. "You'd be taking her home."

Now there's a conundrum tougher than all her AP classes combined. _Her_ baby. She's barely an adult herself, practically a baby, raising a baby of her own. Babies needed care and attention and feeding, and babies grew into kids who went to school.

 _She_ was still a kid that went to school.

Quinn tamps down the pang of affection that wells whenever she thinks about that baby in the pink blanket. She'd learned, long ago, that being a Fabray meant the things in life she wanted weren't always the things she'd get. Steeling herself, Quinn lowers her pen to paper.

"Quinn!"

Quinn puts down her pen with a growl. "Berry, is there some goddamned reason you _always_ have to barge into my private – oh." She reddens when Leroy comes into view, flanking Rachel, another man in tow. "Hello. Uh, Mr Berry, and Mr Berry."

Rachel doesn't seem to notice the tension in the room. "Please don't give her up," she says urgently. "We can help you."

"Help me what? Raise the baby?" A ludicrous image floats into her mind. "You and me? You'll be Mommy and I'll be Mom, right? Like how your dads raised you?"

Rachel recoils. "Quinn, calm down."

But Leroy steps forward, between Rachel and Quinn. "Don't speak to my daughter like that," he says slowly, and she doesn't miss the menace in his voice. It's an intimidation tactic she's very familiar with, and Quinn backs down even before she realizes it.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Dad!" says Rachel indignantly. "Stop scaring her!"

He lifts his hands and drops them in a 'why me' gesture, glancing at his husband. "Teenagers," he says to no one in particular, "raise them for sixteen years, and suddenly they're old enough to bite the hand that feeds them."

Rachel ignores him and grabs Quinn's hands. She wasn't expecting that, so she looks down at where Rachel's hands cradle hers. They're soft, not man hands at all.

"Quinn, do you want to keep her?" Rachel's voice intrudes into her thoughts.

"I can't."

She shakes her head so her hair bounces. "No, that's not what I… okay. Pretend you don't have to worry about stuff like – housing, and money. Do you want to _keep_ her?"

A lump rises in her throat. She soldiers on. "That doesn't matter now, Rachel. I can't keep her, I can't look after her like she deserves."

Ashley clears her throat loudly; everyone jumps, having forgotten she was there. "Quinn," she says with forced cheer, "I feel that you need a little time to think over this, so… I'll give you and your family some time to talk?"

"They're not my family," says Quinn just as Leroy says, "Thank you, ma'am," firmly.

When Hiram and Rachel are distracted by the hospital administrator, Quinn whirls on Leroy and hisses, " _What the hell?_ " at him.

" _You owe us,_ " he hisses back, and Quinn blinks because, okay, _wow_. She wasn't expecting _that_ from someone who's supposed to be a parent, especially not a grown _man_ who is the _father_ – one of the fathers, okay – of someone her age.

It's bad enough she had to be a homeless, pending-single mom at sixteen. But this – losing intimidation battles with a grown man?

She won't let herself sink any lower than necessary. Her position as president of the Celibacy Club may be a joke right now, but Quinn still has some self-control. She may be indebted to him, but she will _not_ give him the satisfaction of intimidating her, Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray.

Ashley has already disappeared, taking the papers with her. Quinn takes a deep breath and smooths down her clothes. "Okay," she says to Leroy, "what do you want from me?"

He tips his head to the side, in Rachel's direction. "Not me, honey," he says, "just answer her question."

"I did. This is a waste of time."

"Quinn," says Rachel placatingly.

"It doesn't matter." She folds her arms across her chest. Her arms don't sit right, and after a moment she realises it's because she doesn't need to compensate for a baby belly anymore. Quinn drops her arms to her sides, fingers loosely clenching her clothing. "I'm signing those documents."

Rachel's eyes flash. "Okay, new question." She tilts her chin up, looking at Quinn. "If you go ahead and sign those documents, and give her up for adoption, would you regret it in, uh – sixteen years' time?"

Quinn grimaces. "I don't have to answer that," she says, avoiding Rachel's eyes.

"No, you don't," says Hiram. It's the first time he's spoken since the entire Berry family showed up, and everyone pauses to look at him. "But she has a right to ask, doesn't she?"

And – _right_. Of course. Rachel got a free pass mentioning her birth mother, so it's Mr Berry's turn to pull the adoption card. Quinn's mouth twists. "Yeah. I guess."

"I'm aware I have no right to say this – "

"You really don't," mutters Quinn.

"– but as someone who's gone through eerily similar circumstances, I cannot in good conscience stand by and let you do this," finishes Rachel. "Quinn. I know that your personal circumstances aren't exactly ideal, but I don't want you rushing into something you might regret later on, when it's too late; and maybe you would be forced into, I don't know, roping Noah into some farfetched scheme of stealing your daughter back from her adoptive parents."

"Alright!" She glares at Rachel; the roiling feeling in her belly was getting too much, and it's not like she can blame it on the baby or its accompanying hormones anymore. "Fine. We're getting nowhere. None of my answers seem to satisfy you, so what do you want from me, Rachel?"

"A week. You and your baby can stay with me and my fathers for a week. We have a spare room I'm certain you'll find amenable to your needs."

"And what about school?"

"Daddy has made temporary arrangements to babysit her while we're attending classes; which works out wonderfully, since we only have two weeks of school left before the summer holidays. Look, Quinn, I know you refuse to accept any charity from us, so once you've sufficiently recovered, Daddy needs a part-time secretary at his practice which could accommodate your school hours." Rachel takes a step forward. "I want you to be absolutely sure of this decision you're making, Quinn. For the baby's sake, and your own."

Quinn wrinkles her nose. As awfully tempting as it all sounds, the bottom line is that she'll be sharing a house with Rachel _freaking_ Berry for an entire _week_. After months of barely tolerating her presence in school and Glee. "A week is an awfully short time to be making a decision about keeping a baby, Berry."

"As compared to making the decision immediately after being discharged from the hospital?" Rachel fires back, eyebrow raised.

Quinn mirrors her expression. That's her facial tic, and she'll be damned if she lets Rachel Berry have the last word using _her_ facial tic. "You're crazy," she tries.

Rachel doesn't even bat an eyelid. Surprisingly, neither Hiram and Leroy do either; it seems they let Rachel fight her own battles. Quinn gains a tiny bit of grudging respect for them. "I've heard worse."

"Fine. Whatever. A week."

Leroy winks at her when Hiram and Rachel aren't looking. Quinn hates him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wouldn't have been possible without _**Mike Ownby**_ 's Americanization and general beta checking. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> You can find detailed meta, story and author notes, and thoughts on the writing process on my Tumblr [here](https://yumi-michiyo.tumblr.com/tagged/story%3A-bird-on-the-wire).

Ashley seems more than happy to let Quinn take the paperwork and the baby home, and she and Leroy set up an appointment in which Quinn has to make a decision. While they're doing that, Quinn steps away from the group to make a call.

"Hello, Mercedes?"

"Hey, Q! What's up?"

Quinn clutches her phone. "It's kind of a long story, and I'll be headed over soon to explain, but the short version is that I'll be staying with Berry for a week."

There's a pause. "Okay, yeah, that sounds like a long story. Do you want me to pack your things?"

"I… don't know." She twists her shirt between her fingers; a bad habit she's somehow picked up after she got pregnant.

"Hey, chill. Come over first, then we'll talk, alright? I'll let my mom know. She'll fix you that lemon cake you love."

Quinn chuckles wetly. "Thanks, 'Cedes."

"Anytime, girl."

She's about to hang up when she notices Rachel looking at her. "Oh, hang on a sec; I forgot to mention that Berry and her dads are coming with me."

"... Right," replies Mercedes. "I'll let Mom know. I'd ask, but I guess this is part of that long story?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Text when you're on your way here."

For now, though; it's time to go – _home_ , for lack of a better word. Even though it feels weird to be calling someplace that she'll only be staying in for a week _home_ , but she's had four different _homes_ since she found out she was pregnant, and Quinn's a real trooper at this point.

Ashley fixes them up with a loaner baby car seat that fits in the middle seat of the Berry SUV and – much to Quinn's relief – serves as a buffer zone between her and Rachel. She sits, mute, in the backseat, pressed as close to the car window as she can possibly get.

"Where to, Quinn?" asks Leroy.

"The Joneses, please."

Rachel straightens in the backseat. "Yes, you're right; we'll need to fetch your things for your stay with us. But this would be an excellent opportunity to ask Mercedes if she'll be interested to sing a duet with me while Glee still exists." She looks at Quinn, who tries to shrink into her seat and disappear. "Come to think of it, you and I haven't yet gotten an opportunity to sing together."

"And thank goodness for that," growls Quinn quietly.

Leroy must have had bat ears, because he suddenly asks: "What was that, girls?" And Quinn knows by girls he means _Quinn_.

But Rachel pipes up instead. "Nothing, Dad!"

He laughs. "Rach, honey, I know you're excited to talk to Mercedes, but maybe that can wait until after we've sorted Quinn out?"

"You're right, Dad. I should have been more considerate. I apologize, Quinn."

"Yeah, it's whatever," mutters Quinn.

So Quinn still hates Leroy, but maybe not as much as she did. And she knows he knows, from the look he shoots her in the rearview mirror (the wink is a little too much, but she lets it go).

The rest of the ride is spent in silence until they're pulling up outside the Joneses' house, where Mercedes is waiting impatiently outside. "Quinn!"

Quinn beams. She lets herself get wrapped up in a massive hug. "Hey, 'Cedes."

"Hello, Mercedes," says Rachel.

"Hey, Rachel. Hi, Mr and Mr Berry. And _hello_ , you!" Mercedes says without missing a beat, her voice going syrupy and exaggerated for the baby. "Come on in, my mom will be pleased to see all of you."

Aurelia Jones greets everyone with a warm smile and lemon cake. Quinn tries not to inhale hers; she's missed this.

"Thank you for bringing them home, Leroy, Hiram, Rachel," says Aurelia. Quinn feels her face go hot; she bends over her lemon cake.

"We should be thanking you and your family for taking care of Quinn," replies Hiram.

"Nonsense, we did what any decent folk should be expected to do."

From the way Hiram's eyes light up at the unspoken jab, Quinn can tell they are going to get along like a house on fire. But then Aurelia is turning to her and saying: "Mercedes was saying you have quite the story for us, dear."

"Yes, ma'am. Uh, so… I have a week to decide if I'm going to keep the baby. The Berrys have invited me to stay with them while I figure things out." Quinn pauses, looking down at her hands, unsure of what to say next.

"I've made arrangements to babysit while the girls are at school," adds Hiram smoothly. "Of course, this would be a temporary arrangement, but I'm confident we'll be able to come up with a permanent solution after Quinn's made her decision."

"Well, I have no objections to that. Though we've told you a thousand times, Quinn, we'll be happy to take the both of you in if you choose to keep her, or just yourself."

"I know, ma'am," says Quinn around the lump in her throat. "You've been so nice to me, but I…" She swallows hard, even as heat fills her cheeks. She hasn't done anything to deserve so many nice things, and yet she has two homes open to her.

Leroy clears his throat. "Quinn, I believe you still need to pack your things."

"Yes, that's right. Rachel, Mercedes, why don't the two of you go on up with Quinn to her room? I think she could use your help packing," says Aurelia. "Leave this lil' cutie here with us. Go on, git."

Quinn nods thickly, grateful for the reprieve. She heads upstairs, taking advantage of her back being turned on everyone to wipe her eyes.

Her room – technically Mercedes' older brother's old room – looks perfectly impersonal; her father didn't give her enough time to pack more than the essentials. Mercedes' parents have offered to take her shopping, but Quinn declined each time, not wanting to be indebted to them more than she already is.

Two large duffle bags in Cheerio red-and-white sit on the floor beside the bed. "I've taken your bags out of the attic," says Mercedes. Quinn nods.

"Thanks."

"I'm well aware that I'm only here so that our parents can speak frankly without us," says Rachel, "so if you don't want me to help – or even be here, for that matter – I fully understand."

"It's fine. Not like there's much to pack, anyway." It's depressingly apparent to Quinn that packing things to last her for a week doesn't leave much else in the room, and that she might as well pack all her belongings. "I don't need any help."

Mercedes shrugs. "We're right here if you need anything," she says. Rachel nods.

She hates how they're treating her like she's made of glass; Quinn even wishes Rachel would say something annoying, so she could snap at her. But instead she's left to gather up her belongings while Mercedes and Rachel carry on an amiable conversation in the background, pretending not to notice Quinn.

* * *

She can't delay her departure any longer. Quinn hates how Mercedes and Rachel insist on taking a bag each – and she lets them.

Aurelia is waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. She catches Quinn in a gentle yet firm hug. "Don't be a stranger, Quinn," says Aurelia gently. "You'll always have a home here with us."

Quinn nods, her eyes already welling up; she buries her face in Aurelia's shoulder. She hates that she's teared up so many times in front of all these people.

"See you tomorrow, you guys."

She notices Rachel glance at her, before she says: "Goodbye, Mercedes," for the both of them.

After she's said her goodbyes to Mercedes and Aurelia, Quinn gets into the car. She knows exactly where the Berry house is; the school jocks (and some of the Cheerios) have played plenty of pranks on the house of the only gay couple in Lima. While she's never taken part in those pranks, she didn't exactly try to stop them, either.

To her credit, Rachel's newfound tactful silence towards Quinn lasts for the duration of the car ride. She directs her chatter at her fathers when she's not singing along to whatever's playing on the car radio, or cooing at the baby.

Quinn's just glad that her kid's got enough of her genes not to entertain Rachel's ridiculousness; the baby sleeps the entire way back.

"Here we are." Leroy pulls into the driveway of a neat little two-story house. "Rachel, could you show Quinn and the baby up to their room? It's been a long day, and I'm sure they could use a nap. I know I could."

"Of course, Dad," she chirps, opening the car door and hopping out. She undoes the buckles holding the baby and – waits.

"Jesus, Berry," snaps Quinn. "What are you waiting for?"

"She's your baby, Quinn," returns Rachel, uncharacteristically soft. "You should hold her."

"... No."

"You're supposed to be taking care of her for a week. And, hopefully, for a while after that."

"I don't like what you're insinuating," bites out Quinn, crossing her arms over her chest.

Rachel puts her hands on her hips. "Well, I couldn't care less what _you_ like, Quinn. You agreed to think this over for a week, and that means giving yourself a chance to make a fully-formed decision, not being deliberately spiteful to me."

Quinn could swear she hears one of the Berry men whisper, "Oh, snap" to the other. She grits her teeth. She sneaks a glance at Leroy over Rachel's shoulder and sees him give her a significant look. "Fine," says Quinn. She scoops the baby into her arms – gently, otherwise Rachel would nag her to death and leave her maybe-not child motherless – and walks up the drive towards the front door.

"Be careful of her head and neck," says Rachel, following closely on Quinn's heels.

"Does it look like I just slung her over my shoulder like a cavewoman? I know how to hold babies, damnit."

"I never said you didn't. I was merely reminding you to be careful. And perhaps mind your language around Baby Fabray."

"She doesn't actually understand human speech yet. Just like you."

Rachel lets out a small huff, but doesn't respond to the insult otherwise. She speeds up so she can reach the front door before Quinn, and unlocks it, standing in the doorway to hold it open. "My dads will bring your things upstairs," she says, not actually looking at Quinn. "The kitchen is on the left, living room on the right. Your room is upstairs; if you'll follow me, I'll show you where it is."

"You don't have to give me the grand tour, I can figure it out. Besides, I'm sure you have better things to do, like burning your argyle sweaters."

"Honestly, Quinn, sometimes I wonder if the reason why you keep using the same unoriginal insults is because that was the way you were programmed." Rachel reaches the top of the stairs and points down the hall. "That's my fathers' room, this is mine, and this is the guest room. Which is now yours."

Quinn eyes the huge gold star affixed to Rachel's room door with distaste. "Is it too much to hope that my room looks nothing like yours?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Ha ha. I'm sure you thought that was incredibly amusing." She opens the door to reveal a normal-looking queen-sized bed. Quinn steps in to survey the place; normal-looking dresser, desk, bedside table – and surprisingly, a crib.

"My fathers and I have ensuite bathrooms," says Rachel, "but there's another bathroom down the hall, first door on your left. We use it occasionally, like when someone fails to adhere to the bathroom schedule, and there's a bit of overlap."

"I don't know why you thought I would care about that."

Rachel ignores her. "Daddy says he'll take the baby to work with him while we're at school for the week."

Quinn purses her mouth. Here is a legitimate concern that has nothing to do with how much she loathes the situation. "Is that even professional?"

"Daddy owns his own law firm, so he's allowed to do what he wants," says Rachel frostily. "If you're concerned about whether he can adequately care for the baby and juggle work at the same time, he does have employees who are more than willing to babysit such as Gladys, the receptionist at his office, who is a lovely lady."

"And you would know this, how?"

"Gladys has babysat me occasionally ever since I was an infant," replies Rachel curtly.

"Berry, you were an infant approximately a century ago." It's a weak, overly-contrived insult, and Quinn knows Rachel knows it too. She tries to keep the flush from her cheeks and fails miserably.

Rachel simply frowns at her. "If you would like to voice any other _unfounded_ concerns about my fathers' long-time family friends caring for Baby Fabray, I'll remind you that _someone_ was happy to give her away to strangers, _permanently_."

Quinn decides it's better for her sanity if she doesn't interrupt Rachel anymore.

"All of our personal schedules are on the fridge, as well as the carpool schedule and dinner timetable, but I'll email a copy of those to you later. I'm assuming you would want to rejoin the Cheerios and Glee as soon as possible, as well as the – Celibacy Club," Rachel clears her throat, and hurries on with her monologue before Quinn can open her mouth, "but if you have any other extracurricular activities or commitments that would require you to stay after school next week, please inform either my fathers or myself so we may accommodate them on the carpool schedule."

"I… what." Her head is spinning from the barrage of information, to the point that she completely tuned out the second half in favour of waiting for Rachel to run out of breath. "Could you repeat that, but like, in human speech."

Rachel huffs in irritation. "My fathers will be driving us to and from school. Unless you inform them otherwise, they will assume that you and I will have identical travelling schedules. The rest of the information is superfluous and I will send you a PowerPoint encapsulating the key points later."

Quinn bites her lower lip, focusing her thoughts on her situation. "Oh. Uhm – I don't think that's an issue. Coach won't let me back on the team just like that, and I think Celibacy Club is pretty much a joke now."

"Can I expect you to be joining us in Glee for the week?"

"Yeah, I guess." Quinn walks over to the crib to place the baby in her arms inside. "I, uh, wasn't expecting this to be here."

"It was mine," says Rachel. Quinn glances at her, surprised. "My fathers kept all of my baby things in anticipation of their future grandchildren. Daddy and I set it up just before we went to pick Dad up and go to the hospital. The bedding is brand-new, of course, and clean; we made sure to use hypoallergenic detergent."

"Of course. Your old things have been in storage for, what? At least a century? Are they argyle?" The insults roll off her tongue with ease; they're something she's familiar with in this unfamiliar situation. They're all she has control over at the moment.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Hilarious, Quinn. One might almost think that you spend every waking moment thinking up insults for me."

"I don't have to. You make it so easy."

There's a knock on the (open) door, and Leroy walks in. "Glad to see you girls are settling in just fine," he says, shooting Quinn a pointed look. Quinn half-expects Rachel to complain about her, but Rachel just clasps her hands together and says: "I've informed Quinn about the carpooling, Dad."

"Thank you, sweetheart." He kisses the top of her head. "Here's your bags, Quinn." Leroy shrugs off the bags like they weigh nothing.

"Thank you, Mr Berry." She thinks she might resemble a lump of Swiss cheese, with all the penetrating glances Leroy Berry's been shooting at her.

"No problem. Now, it's been a long day; why don't you freshen up and take a nap, and we'll see you downstairs for dinner later? That is, if you're feeling up to it." To Rachel, he says: "Rachel, I think your Daddy could use your help in the kitchen, and the hydrangeas out front are looking less than stage-worthy."

Rachel beams her 'I'm-a-perfect-little-star' smile at him. "Of course, Dad."

When she's gone, Quinn turns to Leroy. "This is your idea of repayment? Forcing me to stay in the guest room of your house for a week?" She doesn't mention _in Rachel's company_ , but that's kind of a moot point.

"The dungeon in the basement is currently under renovation," he says dryly.

And again, Quinn's taken aback. Sarcasm is something she expects from Sue Sylvester, and Santana Lopez to a lesser degree; not from a grown man. "You can't talk to me like that."

"Oh, yes I can. It seems to me that a big reason for your behaviour towards Rachel is because everyone's treated you like the sweet, butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth princess whom you appear to be." He folds his arms across his chest, his expression stony. "Consider it part of the repayment process."

"Doesn't repayment normally involve money?" she fires back.

"While being a law enforcement officer isn't exactly lucrative, my husband owns his own legal practice. We have worked very hard to provide Rachel with everything she needs. But, as I'm sure you know, money can't buy everything." Leroy looks at the baby, peacefully asleep in her crib, and back at Quinn. "We want to help you, Quinn. Even Rachel. But you would never accept charity if you thought it was done out of pity, correct?"

She doesn't say anything, mostly because she hates him, and partially because he's right.

"Speaking as an adoptive father, one of our greatest fears for the first year of Rachel's life was that Shelby would change her mind and come after us. In a small town like this, who do you think the court is likely to award custody to? A gay couple who filled out all the legal paperwork, or the biological mother?"

She still doesn't say anything, but she starts fidgeting with her dress.

"You are still a child. Don't look at me like that; legally, you are still a minor. But since you have a child of your own, you are an adult now, like it or not, and I'll treat you like one." Leroy rubs his jaw. "Take the week to think it over carefully, now that you aren't in danger of being kicked out."

"Then what happens after I decide? Keep or give her up? You're gonna turn me out?"

"No," he says, surprisingly gentle for how cold his words were earlier. "As long as you need a home, Quinn, you'll always have one here." Leroy pauses. "Whether we'll have one or two people moving in. Aurelia and her husband have said the same, so if you think Rachel is too difficult to live with – " his mouth twitches, "– the Joneses are happy to take you in, whatever you decide."

Quinn's mouth goes dry.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to do my share of the chores, otherwise my husband and daughter will join forces to wreak havoc on me." He sighs dramatically. "I always knew we should have had a boy; I am _so_ outnumbered in this household." Leroy walks to the door, pausing on the threshold. "I'll send Rachel to let you know when dinner's ready, if you're up to it; otherwise, tell her off in that charming way you have, and we'll send up a tray."

"... Thank you, Mr Berry." Quinn tries not to flush with shame, and fails spectacularly.

"I know I've just threatened you, or something that feels like it, so I'll let that go. But it's Leroy, Quinn."

Once he's gone, she flops onto the bed with a weary sigh. "Is this punishment for having sex before marriage or something?" she asks no one in particular.

* * *

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Quinn knows, it's gotten dark outside, and there's an insistent knocking at the door. "Quinn? It's me. May I come in?"

"Yeah."

When she appears, beaming like she's spotted a camera, Quinn regrets everything. "Dinner's ready. Will you be joining us, or would you like me to bring you a tray?"

"I'll go. I'm not an invalid or a prisoner." Quinn stands up. She's still not used to not having to make a big production out of it, but Rachel doesn't comment.

"She's been sleeping the whole time?" asks Rachel instead, nodding at the crib.

"I guess." As long as the baby's not crying, Quinn counts that as a victory.

Rachel purses her lips. "She should be getting hungry soon. Daddy says I was a voracious eater for a month or so after they brought me home."

"And all that milk couldn't make you any taller? What a shame."

"Okay, that is _it_!" Rachel stamps her foot; Quinn blinks, startled. "I have had it up to here with your rudeness, and your uncooperative attitude. Just _what_ is your problem, Quinn?"

"All of this!" she waves her arms around angrily. "I don't want to be here, with that baby. Is that so hard to understand?"

"We're helping you!"

"I didn't ask for _your_ help!"

If Rachel noticed the emphasis on _your_ , she doesn't say it. "You need help, Quinn. We're able to help you."

Quinn sets her jaw. "I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't need you to come swooping in with your damn savior complex and make this decision any harder than it has to be."

"In case you've forgotten, I had the fullest intention of respecting your rejection of my help. I understand that my dad may have overstepped his authority by helping you without our knowledge, but I trust he had good reasons for doing so."

"How do I know you didn't just stomp your foot and make him do it anyway?" scoffs Quinn. "Your dads spoiled you, Berry; your whole life, you've been showered with every little thing your heart desires. You've never had to do anything you didn't want to, or live up to some impossible standard set for you. Your life is perfect. Mine's not." She takes a deep breath. "So, step off, Berry."

Instead of getting angry, Rachel chews on her lip. "Someday, I believe you'll learn that accepting help isn't a sign of weakness," she says quietly. Quinn hates that she can see pity in her expression.

Summoning the last reserves of her disdain, Quinn looks down her nose at Rachel and says: "I think you should leave."

"Fine." Rachel exits dramatically, as usual.

Before Quinn can catch her breath, the baby starts fidgeting and whimpering in her crib.

"Not you too," says Quinn irritably.

"Do you need a hand?"

Hiram Berry, currently her favorite member of the Berry family (only because he's interacted with her the least) stands in the doorway. He has a bottle in his hand.

"How did you guess?"

He shrugs. "I've had plenty of experience from raising Rachel. She's been sleeping the whole day, it was about time for her bottle. Do you know how to feed her?"

"Can't you just do it?"

Hiram doesn't argue, simply crossing the room to take the fussing baby in his arms. She whines and pushes the bottle away.

Good grief. Even the damn baby was being difficult. "Give her here," says Quinn, annoyed. Hiram hands the baby over, passing Quinn the bottle once the baby is comfortable in her arms.

She sits on the bed to feed her. The baby latches onto the rubber nipple and starts feeding.

"You're a natural."

"I used to babysit for extra money. My parents thought it would be good practice for when I was older. How ironic." Quinn adjusts the baby in the crook of her elbow. "Are you here to yell at me?"

"No? I just came to deliver her bottle. Why would I yell at you?"

Quinn blushes in shame. "For picking a fight with Rachel," she admits, her stomach curling up in discomfort.

To her surprise, Hiram shrugs. "Rachel's perfectly capable of fighting her own battles."

She's reminded of the showdown in the hospital earlier.

He glances sideways at her. "Do you _want_ me to yell at you?"

Quinn looks away from him. "I would really prefer that you didn't," she says quietly.

"We're in agreement, then." Hiram nods at the baby. "She's finished, you should burp her. Here…" He hands her a dish towel.

"Uhm…" Her hands are full. Hiram reads her hesitation.

"Do you need help?"

"... Yes, please."

He drapes the towel over her shoulder. Quinn rests the baby over her towel-covered shoulder and pats her back, gratified when the baby lets out a few burps obligingly.

"She's an easy baby," says Hiram approvingly. "Rachel used to be such a holy terror. We had to sing to her for hours, otherwise she absolutely refused to go down for her afternoon naps; and heaven forbid we should omit Sondheim from our repertoire. You're a good girl, aren't you?" he coos at the baby.

"Ga," says the baby. She grabs a fistful of Quinn's hair and pulls. Quinn yelps.

"Looks like I spoke too soon," he chuckles.

"Yeah," agrees Quinn. She takes the tiny fist in her hand, prying the fingers off. "Hey, ease off, okay?"

"Nagooloo," she complains. The baby latches onto Quinn's finger instead and promptly calms down, presumably contented with her new acquisition.

Hiram clasps his hands together. "She is so precious, I could eat her up."

But Quinn doesn't really hear him. Her attention is focused on the warm, cooing bundle she's holding, and the grip on her finger. The baby's vivid blue eyes seem to stare right through her.

She feels exposed.

"Quinn?"

"Huh?"

Hiram chuckles. "I said, I think I'll leave you two to get better acquainted." He takes the now-empty bottle. "I'll be right back with your dinner. I'm guessing you wouldn't want the vegan option?"

Quinn actually, visibly shudders. "God, no. Uh, thanks, Mr Berry."

"If you can call my husband Leroy, you should get used to calling me Hiram, Quinn."

Okay, the last bit about Hiram Berry being the Berry she likes the most? She might have to rethink that, because all of them have the same annoying compulsion to get the last word in before making a dramatic exit.

* * *

She's jolted from horrible dreams by crying. Quinn's glad; it's a recurring nightmare she's been having where she keeps getting kicked out of people's houses on an endless loop. But, then again, her reality – living in the Berry household with a crying baby in the middle of the night – might be worse. "Oh, no," says Quinn, shuffling over to the crib, "please stop that."

The baby, being a baby, pays absolutely no heed to Quinn's desperation and continues wailing. She kicks her little arms and legs in displeasure. Unfortunately for Quinn, the crib isn't one of those rockable ones that'll let her stop the noise without actually having to touch the baby again. She hovers for a good five minutes before she reaches out and scoops up the baby. "You can't be hungry again, can you? You don't get to do this to me," she tells her, jiggling her a little because it seems like the right thing to do, "you're not mine, and I don't have to be nice to you."

The baby seems to agree with her last sentiment in particular, because she lets out an almighty wail and cries harder. Quinn goes back to awkward 'shhh's and pacing the room, too afraid to garner further protests. Her sleep schedule is in danger.

There's a knock at the door. Presumably, the baby was crying too loudly for Quinn to hear it, because Rachel barges into the room. "Hand her over," says Rachel.

Quinn clutches the baby tighter. Pending adoption or no, those were _not_ the words any new mother wanted to hear in the wee hours of the morning from someone who had just entered without permission. "I beg your pardon?"

"Hand her over," repeats Rachel. She looks tired. "I think I can calm her down."

Quinn's desperate. It's the only explanation for the serious lapse of judgment that occurs when she hands the baby to Rachel, who starts crooning _Not While I'm Around_ to her. Much to Quinn's consternation, it seems to work; the baby's wails get less piercing, and she jams her thumb into her mouth.

Rachel starts to pace the room, continuing to sing softly (and act out the lyrics with her hand occasionally, when not rubbing the baby's back). Quinn drops onto the bed to continue staring.

Gradually, cries turn to grumbles which turn to snuffles. Rachel smiles triumphantly, and puts the baby back into her crib. Turning to Quinn, she starts: "My dads always – "

" – sang Sondheim to you. Yes, I know," interrupted Quinn quickly. "Interesting choice for a lullaby, though." She rolls on her back to stare up at the ceiling.

"What can I say? Baby Fabray has good taste." Annoyingly, instead of leaving, Rachel sits on the bed beside Quinn. "She quieted relatively quickly. She's such a good baby."

"Yeah." Silence has never felt so good. Quinn closes her eyes and savors it. "... Thanks, Berry."

"Don't mention it, Quinn," says Rachel brightly. "I'm happy to help. In fact, if you'd like me to sing _you_ to sleep…" And she gets this manic look in her eyes like she'll burst into song any moment, like a malfunctioning jukebox.

"Hard pass," says Quinn, not opening her eyes.

Rachel sighs. "If that's what you want," she says, and then gets up. "You know where to find me should you require any further assistance, or my singing talent. Good night, Quinn. Good night, baby." Rachel shuffles out, blowing a kiss at the crib, shutting the door on her way out.

* * *

Quinn's next nightmare is about Rachel. Specifically, Rachel stroking her hair and singing her a lullaby.

For a fleeting moment, she thinks she wouldn't hate it. But just as quickly, the thought is gone. "That's just creepy," she mumbles to herself, smacking her own cheeks lightly. "Get a grip, Fabray." She's distracted the entire time as she goes through her morning routine. The shower doesn't help, and she decides she maybe coffee will do the trick –

Her first instinct, upon seeing two men in the kitchen, is to scream. The second is to remember that this isn't her house, and neither of them are her dad. The third is to pinch herself to remember this is her life now.

"Good morning, Quinn," says Hiram, mercifully ignoring her mental breakdown. "Would you like some coffee?"

She nods dumbly, then remembers her manners. "Please," she croaks. "Thank you." Quinn seats herself at the table, taking the vacant seat closer to him.

"Lee, pour Quinn some coffee, will you? You're closer to the pot."

"Lazy bum."

"You love this bum."

Chuckling, Leroy brings the mug of coffee over; Quinn hastily averts her eyes so he won't catch her staring. "How do you like your coffee?"

"Um, one teaspoon of sugar and lots of milk."

He fetches the sugar and milk, adding them to the mug in Quinn's preferred quantities. "What would you like for breakfast? We have the usual breakfast foods, or you could have some of Rachel's bird food."

"I heard that, Dad!" Rachel interjects as she enters the kitchen. "Good morning, Dad, Daddy. Quinn." Greetings done, she whirls on Leroy, hands on her hips. "My vegan diet is both nutritionally-balanced, cruelty-free, and optimized for my busy lifestyle of being a Broadway star-in-the-making. It is _not_ bird food."

"Of course, sweetie," he replies, bending at the waist to accept a kiss on the cheek from his daughter. Quinn realizes belatedly that he's wearing a frilly pink apron that says **Kiss the Cook** on the front. It's frankly disconcerting, since he has his officer's uniform under that. "So, Quinn. What'll it be? Hiram will be having toast and scrambled eggs, Rachel her bird food…"

" _Dad_!"

"... and bacon and eggs for me," he finishes. Quinn's stomach growls loudly at the mention of bacon, and she blushes.

"I'd like the same as you, please, Leroy. If it's not too much trouble."

He grins. "Certainly not! Finally, I'm not alone in this house of herbivores." And Leroy returns to the stove.

Much to Quinn's displeasure, Rachel sits beside her. "I hope you managed to get some rest," she says, "we have a long day today, and I would greatly appreciate it if you were able to keep up in Glee."

Quinn clenches her jaw. For the sake of her bacon, she'll be nice and civil. "I'll try not to collapse of exhaustion and mess up your plans."

Unfortunately for her, Rachel isn't familiar with sarcasm. She claps her hands together, beaming. "Thank you, Quinn! That's all I could ask for. I truly appreciate it."

The smell of sizzling bacon makes Quinn's mouth water – a good reason to keep quiet – and Rachel frown. "I fail to understand how you can bear to eat that, Dad. Think of the poor pigs that were murdered for your consumption." She glances at Quinn. "I recognize the fact that we have a guest means that I shall have to be more tolerant of your dietary preferences, but that doesn't change the reality of the animal cruelty that goes on, unchecked."

"Rachel, sweetie," says Hiram, not looking up from his newspaper, "we've talked about this."

"No lecturing Dad about veganism at mealtimes," recites Rachel grumpily.

"And I appreciate it, Rachel," says Leroy placidly. He flips the bacon in the pan.

"You know who would appreciate it more?" She pauses for effect. "The pig. If you hadn't already eaten it. They are intelligent creatures with feelings, not unlike us – "

" _Rachel_."

Quinn's eyes widen in surprise; it's Hiram who's spoken, and not Leroy. His voice is cold and authoritative, and it sounds incongruous coming from the smaller, nerdy-looking man.

She subsides, but clearly reluctantly. Rachel continues to mumbles incoherently under her breath, glaring at the frying pan as though it has personally wronged her.

Hiram smiles, and it's like the clouds have passed. "She's like this most mornings," he sighs, with a fond smile in Rachel's direction. "Our little Ray-Ray of sunshine."

"Daddy!"

Quinn keeps her attention on her coffee. Really, all she wants to do is cry. Her parents were never like this – so openly affectionate to her and each other – and seeing all this parental affection being lavished on Rachel and each other is stirring her insides up.

It's no wonder Rachel is unironically cheery and sunshine-y; she grew up with parents like these, who have showered her with unconditional love and support her entire life. All the Quinns and Santanas and slushies in the world could never bring down someone like this.

"It's in our job description as your fathers to embarrass you, sweetheart." Leroy sets a plate in front of her, bending to kiss the top of her head. The tofu scramble has salad leaves and cherry tomatoes on top of it, arranged into a smiley face.

Rachel sighs. "Thank you, Dad. It looks yummy." Under her breath, she adds: "At least not in front of Quinn."

Quinn pretends not to hear.

"And here's your breakfast, Miss Quinn," says the tall black man jovially. Her plate is also artfully arranged, with two fried-egg eyes, a generous helping of bacon as a wobbly smile, and buttered toast forming a pointed hat. Quinn doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Uh – thank you, sir. It's very cute."

"You're very welcome." Leroy squints at the bedazzled poster tacked to the fridge. "Hmm. Looks like it's my day to drive you girls to school. You have Glee this afternoon, don't you?"

"Yes, Dad." Rachel shoots a look at Quinn across the table; Quinn avoids her gaze. She pokes at her bacon (which is crispy around the edges, just the way she likes it). "Don't we, Quinn?"

"Mmhmm," says Quinn noncommittally. Truthfully, she doesn't feel like going to school at all. She's been the talk of the school for the past year because of her pregnancy; she's in no hurry to be back under their scrutiny with her newly-flat belly.

She notices the Berry men exchange looks; they're not being subtle about it at all. "You know, if you wanted to stay home from school today, Quinn…" says Hiram.

There's a clatter as Rachel drops her fork. "Daddy!"

"What?"

"Don't encourage her," says Rachel. She glances at Quinn and says, "Don't skip Glee, please."

"Because you need me to sing backup and sway in the background while you sing?" Quinn asks, temper rising.

"Because I want you there," says Rachel quietly. "Because it wouldn't be the same without you."

Hiram clears his throat. "We know it's been hard with the baby, Quinn; we heard you being up and down with her half the night. Goodness knows that we were falling asleep everywhere when Rachel was a baby herself."

"Daddy! Honestly," she huffs.

"We hear from Rachel that you're an exceptional student. Honor roll, I believe?" Leroy adds.

Quinn is startled into nodding. "I am."

"Rachel could bring your assignments home. I'm sure you could catch up with Glee; it is your last week of school, and I'm certain you wouldn't be missing much now that Regionals is over." Hiram sips his coffee. "If you decide to stay home, let me know, so I can break the news to Gladys," he says with a chuckle.

"I will. Thank you, Mr Berry – Hiram."

Rachel looks like she wants to say something, but catches herself at the last minute. Quinn is infinitely grateful for the reprieve.

* * *

Much to Rachel's delight (and Gladys' as well, according to a smiling Hiram), Quinn decides she does want to brave school.

Not because Rachel wants her there. No, Quinn Fabray is not soft, especially not for someone who has a habit of stealing her boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Or someone who simply doesn't understand the value of silence, because Rachel won't stop babbling happily from the passenger seat while Leroy drives them to school.

No, Quinn is going to school because she owes Rachel for last night. And the day before. And for most of their freshman and sophomore years, really.

Rachel twists in the passenger seat to smile at her. "I'm really so glad you decided to come, Quinn," she burbles. "I know you're tired, and I certainly wouldn't begrudge you wanting to take a break, but everyone's been so worried about you, and I know they'll welcome you back eagerly. They've been pestering me about you daily."

Quinn doesn't say, _if they've missed me so much, why didn't they come see me at the hospital?_ She just nods, mumbles something, and looks out the window.

"Here we are, ladies." Leroy pulls up in front of McKinley High. "Have a great day, and I will pick you up at… five. Right?"

"Yes, Dad. Thank you! Have a wonderful day! I love you!" Rachel hops out of the car.

Quinn looks at Leroy. "Uh – thank you for driving me to school, Mr Berry – Leroy. And for everything."

"I should be thanking you, Quinn," he says. "I know it's not easy being you right now, but you're doing wonderfully so far."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so Quinn ducks her head, mumbles something that might have been a thank you, and climbs out of the car to where Rachel is waiting.

"May I ask you a question, Quinn?"

"Go ahead."

"Are you averse to being seen entering the school with me?" Rachel asks, sounding surprisingly timid, and Quinn is momentarily taken aback; this Rachel is the Rachel she normally sees in school, not the Rachel she saw at home earlier.

"Berry, I'm not a Cheerio anymore," she says. "I'm living with you, along with the baby. I really don't think my popularity could sink any lower by being seen with you."

Rachel smiles tightly at her. "Excellent. Let's go, then."

* * *

It's not the same.

It's not very much different, either.

She was expecting pointing and staring and hushed whispers behind hands, and she does get a little of that, but for the most part, she is completely ignored. Life goes on.

Santana is standing by her locker when they enter. Quinn knows when Santana spots her, because the other girl presses her lips together and marches away from them, stiff and straight-backed. Brittany waves at her, but proceeds to jog after Santana.

Quinn sighs. "Remind me again why I'm here."

Rachel closes her locker. "You're here because I don't think I can face everyone on my own," she confesses softly. "Glee is over. We lost."

"Oh." Heat rushes to her face. "I forgot." She doesn't remember much from Regionals except pain, and screaming.

"I know, and it's fine. You had plenty of other things to be dealing with."

"Tell me about it."

Rachel smiles at her. "I'm certain there will be an opportunity to discuss what you missed in Glee this afternoon. By the way, I'd like to thank you again for agreeing to come. I really appreciate your moral and physical support."

"You don't have to keep thanking me, Berry. Seriously. It's getting a little weird." But Quinn doesn't say it with her usual venom. The smile she receives warms her heart, even if she'll never admit it.

* * *

Quinn could pretend nothing had changed the entire day. But she can't keep pretending once she walks into the choir room; the mood in Glee reminds her of a funeral home. She does get the odd smile here and there, and Mercedes' face lights up when she sees Quinn.

Finn ignores her. Puck keeps staring at her, willing her not to ignore him. Quinn can't wait to leave; thankfully, it seems that Rachel feels the same way.

No one seems inclined to speak up. The discussion struggles on, valiantly carried by Rachel and Mr Schue. Quinn actually is grateful that everyone seems too preoccupied with Glee to pay her and her newly-flat belly much attention.

Apart from Puck. He spends most of Glee trying to catch her eye; Quinn spends most of Glee pretending not to notice.

With about fifteen minutes left on the clock, Mr Schue just sort of – gives up, and lets them go early. Rachel stands up so fast that her chair screeches, and barrels out the door.

Which leaves Quinn staring after her. Rachel's her ride; she is supposed to be going home with her. Wordlessly, she gathers up Rachel's things and goes after her. It's a testament to the weird mood that no one says anything, and nobody stops her. Puck looks like he might go after her, but a glare shot in his direction makes him sit back down.

She'll have to deal with him later. But now, she needs to find Rachel.

It isn't difficult to find her. She's sitting in the little alcove that Quinn found, all those months ago, when she told Finn the truth about the baby's father.

"Hey." Quinn clears her throat. "You, uh, left your things in the choir room." She holds out Rachel's bag and gold star-encrusted binder to her.

Rachel sniffles and says, "Thank you." She takes her things and drops them on the floor beside her feet. It doesn't look like she's moving anytime soon, so Quinn sits next to her. God, she's so uncomfortable, and she feels guilty for not knowing what to say to Rachel apart from insulting her.

"Your dad won't be here for a while."

"I know. I just didn't want to be in there any longer. We were supposed to be choosing a last song for Mr Schue, and I…" She sniffles again, louder this time. "I'm sorry. I haven't yet mastered clear diction while crying."

"That's okay," says Quinn uncomfortably. God, she wants to be anywhere but here. She wants this day to be over. Scratch that; if she had a choice, she'd be in her own home, sans baby, with the entire year wiped clean from existence. But she's made her mistakes, and surely this is karmic justice for everything she's done.

Still, Quinn isn't completely heartless. She can't forget that it was Rachel who visited her in the hospital, Rachel whose fathers took her in, Rachel who's essentially letting her tormentor into her private life. Rachel, who sang the baby to sleep last night when she didn't have to.

With all this in mind, Quinn reaches out and awkwardly rubs Rachel's back. "I'm sorry," she offers, the words thick and heavy on her tongue.

"Quinn, none of this is your fault."

"I know that. God, Berry, let me finish."

"I apologize. Please continue."

"I'm sorry for everything. The slushies, the names, the… _everything_. You've been nice to me throughout and I haven't deserved any of it. I know I'm a bitch – "

"– you're not a bitch," interrupts Rachel.

"Berry."

"Sorry."

"As I was saying… I know I'm a bitch. But I'm trying to do better. And I…" she pauses, losing her train of thought, and finding it again. "I'm sorry that Glee is over. I wish things could be different."

"Thank you." Rachel dabs at her eyes. "While I appreciate the apology, and I forgive you, I don't think anyone needs to earn kindness, Quinn."

She chews on her lower lip. "No one's ever been kind to me without wanting anything in return."

"You haven't met many nice people, have you?" The words are delivered without a sting, and with a gentle nudge of Rachel's shoulder against her own; Quinn smiles in spite of herself.

"Nice, no. Dumb, maybe."

Rachel huffs. It sounds so much like her old self that Quinn laughs. "Dumb? I thought you just apologized for calling me names, Quinn Fabray. _Honestly_."

"I reserve the right to use them when the situation calls for it, Rachel."

She turns pink with pleasure. "You called me Rachel."

"That's your name, isn't it?"

"I – yes, it is – but that's not the point." She beams widely. "I'm really glad you called me by my actual name, Quinn, rather than Manhands or Treasure Trail, or what have you. Especially since my fathers aren't around."

There's that little pang of guilt again. Quinn shrugs it off. "It's the least I can do. I kinda owe you for last night."

"While I hope you know that I don't keep score, I appreciate the spirit in which the gesture was made," says Rachel, still beaming at Quinn. "Does this mean we're friends now?"

Quinn hesitates. She badly wants to say that this isn't grade school, they don't need declarations of friendship and pinkie promises. But she finds it surprisingly hard to be cruel when faced with Rachel's earnest expression. "Yeah. I guess. Don't go singing it off rooftops."

Rachel clasps her hands together excitedly. "You have no idea how happy I am that we're friends now. Honest."

Quinn has no idea how apologizing for her bullying automatically means they're friends now, but she hasn't got the heart to correct Rachel. Besides, Rachel's happiness over a simple thing like Quinn calling her by her first name and Quinn being nice to her makes Quinn feel horrible.

There was no way in hell that Rachel could know about the agreement she had with Leroy; but the fact that she's being nice to Rachel of her own volition, rather than because she's being blackmailed by someone, makes Quinn feel a little better about herself.

So Quinn gives her a small smile. "I have _some_ idea," she says dryly, arching an eyebrow at Rachel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, credit goes to _ **Mike Ownby**_ for his Americanization and general beta checking. Any remaining mistakes remain my own, because writing on a phone creates a wealth of typos that are really hard to spot.
> 
> You can find detailed meta, story and author notes, and thoughts on the writing process on my Tumblr [here](https://yumi-michiyo.tumblr.com/tagged/story%3A-bird-on-the-wire).

Earlier, before Glee, she'd been dreading the wait for Leroy – visions of endless piles of sheet music dancing in her head – but Rachel had rushed out early, and she'd followed. Much to Quinn's relief, however, Rachel doesn't seem keen on talking about Glee; instead, she finds herself drawn into a discussion of favorite movies, music, and books.

She doesn't mind at all; it's oddly refreshing, to say the least, knowing that the sum of Rachel's interests don't begin with B and end with Y.

Rachel catches her staring – and, amazingly, seems to know what Quinn is thinking. "I'd rather we talk about other things right now," she says, giving Quinn a quick, mirthless smile. "We've been having too many serious conversations lately, don't you think?"

Quinn's gaze falls back on her shoes as she ignores the heat in her cheeks. She wonders how Rachel was able to guess what was on her mind. "What are you talking about? I was just wondering why you aren't giving me the lecture on the ways _Rent_ was a groundbreaking musical that profoundly redefined the genre," she deflects.

"That's a lecture that can be saved for another time," says Rachel, narrowing her eyes at Quinn. "Although I do admit that while your impression of me is rather lacking, your verbosity betrays your deeper interests."

Quinn scoffs. She'd rather die than admit to Rachel that she regularly listens to _This American Life_. "I'm not a dumb blonde cheerleader, Berry; I'm on the honor roll. I'm not sure you've noticed, but we share a couple of AP classes."

She is saved from Rachel's reply when the other girl's phone vibrates, and she brightens after checking the screen. "Oh! Dad's here, let's go!"

Quinn follows closely. She's eager to get out of the school for the weekend; two whole days without Puck, without the rest of McKinley.

In the car, Leroy gives Quinn a look in the rearview mirror that says, _I've got my eye on you_. Quinn tries not to gulp. He's a police officer, he's probably trained to sense fear. But then he turns to Rachel with a bright smile, and asks her how her day went. The detailed account lasts for the entirety of the car ride home, and Quinn is grateful for the reprieve.

Until Rachel turns in her seat to mouth _we'll discuss the impact of_ Rent _at a more appropriate time, Quinn_ at her, forcing Quinn to stifle her snort in the sleeve of her cardigan, disguising it as a cough.

* * *

Tonight's dinner is Chinese food. Quinn is mildly disturbed to note that both cuisine and takeout phone number are specified on the (bedazzled) list stuck to the fridge.

Leroy catches her looking (and the expression on her face); he shrugs, unabashed. "Hiram and I are decent cooks, but we're too busy to make dinner most of the time. It's a shame Rachel didn't inherit any of our cooking skills."

Rachel huffs her indignation. "It's not my fault spaghetti is such a fickle ingredient."

All Quinn's attention is now focused on Rachel. "... You just need to boil it, and reheat the sauce from the jar. How hard do you think it is to make spaghetti, Rachel?" Quinn asks incredulously.

"Clearly all my talent was allocated to my musical abilities," retorts Rachel. She looks a little pink, but Quinn could be wrong.

Leroy grins. "Tell Quinn about the time you burned water, sweetie."

"Dad!"

"Or the time you surprised your daddy and me with breakfast in bed on Fathers' Day. Crunchiest scrambled eggs I've ever eaten." He smacks his lips together noisily, much to Quinn's amusement and Rachel's obvious mortification.

"Honestly, Dad! How do you expect a vegan to know how to cook scrambled eggs?" Rachel is blushing furiously now, pointedly not looking in Quinn's direction. "You're dangerously close to being excluded from my Tony acceptance speech."

He snorts. "That serious?"

"Yes!"

Leroy laughs and relents, reaching out to ruffle Rachel's hair affectionately. "Alright, alright. I'm stopping now." He looks at Quinn, who quickly swallows her snicker. "Since you're our guest for the week, why don't you pick the menu?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Rachel, would you run Quinn through the basics, please?"

"Certainly, Dad." Rachel pulls out a large binder from under the coffee table, flipping to the color-coded subheading labelled **Chinese**. "We usually get our regular orders – vegetarian stir-fry for me, Dad gets the moo shu pork, and Daddy likes his black bean beef – plus a few assorted dishes, depending on our mood or the restaurant's special," she explains. "Take your time looking through the menu. My dads recommend their shrimp fried rice; or if you don't eat seafood, their pork dumplings are excellent – as excellent as eating dead animal flesh can be, of course," she adds in a dark undertone, before continuing in her usual cheery tones: "Naturally, you're free to order what you normally would."

Quinn feels color rise in her cheeks. "I… don't eat Asian food," she admits quietly.

"Don't eat, or won't eat?"

Quinn blushes harder. "I… I've never had Asian food before. My dad didn't approve of it."

Rachel's frown disappears. "Oh. I see. We can always order something else. Variety is the spice of life, after all… Dad!"

"Wait, wait," she hisses, tugging on Rachel's arm. "You don't have to accommodate me."

Rachel spares her an incredulous look. "What are you saying, Quinn? You're our guest; we want you to feel welcome here. That means accommodating your dietary preferences."

Leroy pokes his head in. "Did you call me, baby girl?" he asks, oblivious to Quinn's stricken expression, and her motioning for Rachel to shut up.

"Yes, Dad," says Rachel, undeterred. "Quinn has just informed me that she's never tried Chinese food before. I was wondering if we could switch our Friday cuisine to something else."

"You don't need to!" says Quinn indignantly, glaring at Rachel. "I'm _fine_ with Chinese."

"Girls, girls," Leroy interjects, holding his hands out. "No need to panic. Quinn, do you have any allergies or dietary preferences we should take note of?"

"No, sir." She had learned not to be picky over the past year; the Hudson and Puckerman households subsisted mostly on TV dinners and takeout, and the Joneses were of the "take it or leave it" school of thought when it came to meals.

Leroy nods. "Alright. Why don't we order a few things for you to try? I can suggest a few dishes and you can tell me if you'd want to order them."

Rachel pouts. "Dad, I am more than happy to suggest some foods. I've already suggested some, for your information."

"Honey, you're vegan. The foods you've personally tried are rather limited."

Rachel pouts. Leroy winks at Quinn; she manages a weak smile for him. They're being so nice to her when she doesn't deserve it; the least she could do is to return the gesture, even now when she's so embarrassed she wants to disappear.

"You do have a point, Dad," Rachel concedes. "Since my help is neither required nor appreciated, I'll be in my room until further notice."

"Okay, honey." Leroy turns to Quinn with a kind smile, opening up the takeout binder between them.

"You don't have to," mumbles Quinn.

"I don't have to," he agrees, "but I will anyway."

* * *

With Leroy's help, she picks some dishes – and by _picks_ , she just agrees with whatever Leroy suggests.

He doesn't seem to mind, though. Quinn has the sneaking suspicion he's just indulging her, but she's more interested in getting this ordeal over and done with.

Shortly after he disappears off to place their order, Rachel reappears in the living room and sits on the couch beside Quinn, sheet music in hand. The silence is a little awkward; Rachel appears to be pretending to be reading, judging by the numerous furtive glances she casts in Quinn's direction, though Quinn has no desire to entertain whatever questions Rachel is barely suppressing.

Quinn decides to change tactics and get it over with by going on the offensive. She clears her throat, the sound clearly startling Rachel, who clutches her sheet music so hard it rustles. "So… you can't cook?"

Rachel's expression changes. "No," she replies, looking like a kicked puppy.

"At all?"

"I believe my dad has provided compelling evidence of my complete lack of culinary ability," Rachel says dryly.

Quinn can't help it; she smiles. For once, she can relish the feeling of making Rachel squirm without having to feel guilty about it. "Can you even make coffee?"

"I was forbidden from even _looking_ at the coffee machine ever since I destroyed Daddy's prized DeLonghi."

"How? It's not difficult, you just insert the coffee and press the button," exclaims Quinn.

Rachel sighs, her discomfort evident. "I'm not technologically savvy. Don't make fun of me."

"Rachel, there's a big difference between _technologically savvy_ and _Amish_. Besides, it's not like you're a complete tech idiot. You post videos on MySpace, don't you? How is it possible that you can't operate a coffee machine, when you obviously have no problems filming, editing, and posting your videos online?"

"Yes. Well." Rachel purses her lips. "It seems to be some sort of seventh sense. My body detects I am attempting some endeavor to nourish myself and hinders that effort. I've long accepted it as a price I have to pay in exchange for my musical gift."

"You mean sixth sense?"

"No, I meant seventh," says Rachel very seriously. "I already have a sixth sense, Quinn; I believe I've informed you before that I'm a little bit psychic."

"Now I'm certain you meant psycho."

Rachel huffs, but she's smiling. "I confess myself rather impressed that you've noticed how much effort I put into my videos."

It's Quinn's turn to squirm; they both know about the nasty anonymous comments Quinn and the Cheerios are responsible for leaving on those videos. "Yeah, um. I'm sorry about that."

Rachel nods graciously.

"Rachel," Leroy's voice floats into the room, "your Daddy will be picking up the food on his way home. In the meantime, let's get some chores done, shall we?"

"Yes, Dad," says Rachel obediently. She hops off the couch, smoothing her skirt down.

Quinn is left awkwardly sitting on her own. "Uh, can I help?"

Rachel stares at her. "Quinn, didn't you receive your copy of the Berry chore schedule?"

"I – what?"

Rachel puts her hands on her hips. "I clearly recall emailing it to you yesterday. Had you opened that email and read the schedule, you would have noticed I've taken the liberty of penciling you in."

There's too much in that sentence to unpack. Quinn settles for an eloquent, "Oh."

"In any case, I'd prepared for this eventuality. A copy is affixed to the fridge for your convenience. _But_ ," adds Rachel in increasingly strident tones, "to save you the trouble of going to the kitchen, I believe you are to set the table for dinner."

Quinn nods, overwhelmed by the flow of words. "Okay. So… that's all?"

"You are our guest. We don't want you slaving away like Cinderella. Or should I say, Quinnderella," says Rachel, and giggles at her own joke until she notices Quinn looking at her. "I apologize. I didn't mean to make fun of your personal circumstances."

Quinn shakes her head, grateful for the levity. "Your dad was right. You need to spend more time talking to normal teenagers."

"Quinn, are you trying to tell me you aren't a normal teenager?"

Quinn snorts, loudly and derisively. "I had a baby, Berry. What part of _that_ is normal?"

"Point taken."

* * *

Hiram pulls up in the driveway, baby and dinner in tow.

Unwilling to repeat last night's fiasco, Quinn makes sure the baby is fed and settled in her crib before Quinn heads downstairs for her own dinner.

The Berrys are already seated when she comes in. There is a veritable spread of food on the table; so much that she can barely see any _table_ underneath.

Leroy waves at her good-naturedly. "Come on, take a seat and help yourself."

The containers are open but their plates are empty. "You didn't need to wait," Quinn mumbles, sliding into the empty seat.

"It's good manners, Quinn," says Rachel.

She had been expecting them to say grace, but thinks the better of it. Instead, Quinn is treated to the sight of all three Berrys enthusiastically digging into the food.

"Are you starving today, Lee?" asks Hiram as he serves everyone a portion of dumplings. "I had to get Tong to help me load up the car. Baby Fabray didn't seem to mind, though."

Quiunn holds her breath; Leroy simply shrugs. "Leftover Chinese is pretty tasty," he says, not even looking at Quinn.

The doorbell rings. Hiram frowns. "That can't be a salesperson? Not at this hour?" he asks, looking at his husband.

Leroy shrugs. "Well, we'll find out in a bit."

Rachel dabs at her mouth with a napkin. "It's okay, Dad, I'll get it." She's gone before anyone can respond.

Quinn focuses on her food until a hesitant "Quinn?" floats into the kitchen from the door.

"Yeah?"

"I know you're busy at the moment, but could you please come to the door? There's someone here for you."

Her heart leaps into her throat as the Berry men exchange significant glances. It's late, but – what if her mother's at the door? Or – amazingly – her father? What if they're here to take her back? Quinn's hands shake as she drops her fork. "I'm coming," she calls, smoothing down her dress and hair as she goes.

Quinn frowns when she sees someone wholly unwelcome standing in the hallway instead. "Puck," she says coldly. "What are you doing here?"

He has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders slumped. Rachel hovers behind them, looking anxious. "I heard you brought her back from the hospital," he says. "I wanna see her. You've been avoiding me all day."

"Don't you think there might be a good reason for that?" asks Quinn acidly.

Rachel, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, glances between them anxiously, but says nothing. Quinn ignores her.

Puck's ears go red. "You can't stop me from seeing her," he growls, screwing up his face, looking more like a boy than ever.

"Yes I can, dipshit," she hisses back.

"She's ours," he insists.

"No, she isn't."

Rachel clears her throat. "Why don't you talk in the kitchen," she says with forced cheer. "I'll show you there. Or perhaps you could do that, Quinn, so I can give you two some privacy."

"Don't bother, Rachel," says Quinn, still glaring at Puck. "Puck was just leaving."

He frowns. "She's my kid too."

"None of us are fit to be parents," spits Quinn. "She's nobody's kid, least of all _ours_."

"Then why – "

Quinn interrupts him. " – she's here because Rachel here _insisted_ I think it over. Which is pointless, because I'm signing the adoption papers next week."

Puck's eyes go wide, as do Rachel's; Quinn keeps her attention on him even as her heartbeat hammers in her ears. She lifts her chin, steeling herself for the fallout.

Then his face darkens. "Fuck you, Quinn. She's mine, too. Don't I get a say in this?"

"You gave up any right to call yourself a father when you got me drunk just so you could take my virginity!" yells Quinn.

"You're just as responsible for that," he yells back. "Yeah, we didn't mean for this to happen but it did. So we're both in this together, like it or not, and it's up to us to make sure our kid gets the best!"

"Get out, Puckerman." Her eyes blaze; she's too angry to speak. She wants him gone before she loses her temper and says something else she'll regret.

Thankfully, he doesn't protest. Puck simply tightens his jaw, turns on his heel, and marches out. She stays put until his beat-up truck has puttered off into the night.

"Quinn? Are you okay?" Rachel asks tentatively.

"Save it for someone who cares, Manhands," snaps Quinn. She marches up to her room and locks the door behind her. Quinn throws herself down on the bed, her blood still boiling. The baby whimpers from the crib. Quinn feels her anger ebb away when she turns in the direction of the sound. Even though the baby is the point of contention, she can't bring herself to get angry at something so innocent.

Impulsively, she moves to the crib. "Sorry about that, baby. That was your dad," she says, the words clumsy and thick on her tongue. "He's a jerk."

The baby coos at her, staring with unfocused eyes. Quinn reaches out to touch one plump cheek, smiling when the infant turns its face in the direction of her hand.

"Quinn? May I come in?"

Quinn chews on her lip. It's not Rachel she's mad at. "Yeah. Hang on, lemme unlock it."

To her surprise, Rachel isn't empty-handed. There's a plate of cookies in her hands, which she immediately holds out to Quinn. "I thought this might be a prime opportunity for you to sample more of my baking," she says. "Not that I find this a good thing. I've been told that my cookies make people feel better, and I hope you'll feel better after eating them."

"There's like, a ton of Chinese downstairs," Quinn mumbles.

"It'll keep."

Quinn decides not to argue. "Thanks," she says shortly, taking the plate. "Do you wanna come in?"

"Only if I'm not intruding on your personal space."

"You're really not. This isn't even my house."

"It is your personal space for the time being. It counts."

"Just come in, Rachel."

Rachel does, seating herself at the desk. She stares meaningfully at Quinn until Quinn takes a bite of a cookie.

"It's really good."

"Thank you."

Rachel waits until Quinn's sitting on the bed, the plate of cookies balanced in her lap. "My dads asked me to tell you that they can send Noah away if he comes around again."

Quinn takes her time chewing on the cookie. "They really don't need to," says Quinn. "I can deal with him on my own. Today wasn't a good day, that's all," she lies, unwilling to admit she had been mad at herself for getting her hopes up, and had taken it out on Puck – and Rachel, to a lesser degree.

"You don't have to go through this alone," says Rachel quietly, and there's a look in her eyes that Quinn recognizes: pity. It's the same expression she saw in Puck's eyes earlier. But it's different with Rachel; Quinn's over wanting to claw Rachel's eyes out. She counts this as a win.

"I know." Quinn picks at the hem of her dress where the threads are coming loose. She's running out of clothes; there were only so many baby doll dresses and cardigans she wanted to take with her.

"My dad also says he'll be happy to babysit Baby Fabray tomorrow if you're not up to it."

"No, I should…" Her fingers twist in the fabric, unraveling more threads; Quinn pauses, distracted. "Tell him I appreciate the offer, but I think I should spend the time with her and _really_ think about what I'm going to do."

Rachel frowns. "Didn't you say you were going to sign the papers?"

Quinn takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly through her nose. "That was a lie; I haven't decided on anything yet," she admits. "I only said that because Puck was getting on my nerves."

"I see." Rachel pats her knee. "I'm glad. I think I should go now; I have a few things to do, and I should leave you be. I'm quite certain you're tired of my company already."

"You're not that bad, Rachel. Honest." It's a white lie, but Rachel beams like she's won a Tony, and… yeah, Quinn doesn't like her, but she doesn't exactly hate Rachel either, especially now. Saying it was a gamble, though, because there's a chance that Rachel might just stay and talk her ear off.

But Rachel just smiles at her. "Take your time," she says, nodding at the plate of cookies. "I believe that you would prefer to be alone for that, so if you'll excuse me…"

"Rachel, wait."

She pauses. "Yes?"

Quinn hates the horrible curling sensation in her stomach that threatens to crawl into her throat she gets whenever she apologizes; one of her father's most pervasive lessons was never to apologize. She hopes it's something that gets better with practice. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn't have. You didn't deserve any of it, it's not your fault."

"Think nothing of it, Quinn. We are friends, after all; and friends forgive each other, especially when it was the heat of the moment and I know you didn't mean it."

_Like I didn't mean it back then?_ thinks Quinn bitterly. Out loud, she says: "Uh, that's good to hear."

"Enjoy the cookies," says Rachel – seemingly oblivious to the discomfort in Quinn's voice – and leaves.

* * *

When the baby cries at two AM, Quinn finds that she can't drag herself out of bed. She barely slept for four hours the previous night, and now… The tears prick at her eyes. She'd thought it would be all over when she gave birth. Quinn spends a good hour or so sitting on her bed, staring at the crib, just waiting on the infant.

"You know," she says aloud, "if You really want me to believe in You again, now's a really good time to send me a sign. A message. Anything, I'm not picky."

A part of her wonders if she'll be struck down for blasphemy. But Quinn thinks back to the early weeks of her pregnancy, when she'd begged, bargained, prayed for hours on end for God to make it go away. She's past caring about her eternal soul now, and it hurts more than she thought it would.

There's a knock on her door. "Quinn? It's me."

Quinn hastily wipes her face on her sleeve. "Coming."

Rachel stands there. Annoyingly, she doesn't look as exhausted as Quinn feels. "May I come in?"

"Didn't stop you last night," she remarks, temper frayed by exhaustion.

"You probably couldn't hear me knock last night," replies Rachel, unruffled. "I thought you might appreciate my help in getting her to calm down."

She's too tired to deny it. Quinn merely nods and lets Rachel in to swoop on the crib and work her Broadway magic on the baby.

* * *

When she wakes up, her first thought is to be glad that it's a Saturday, and there's no school.

But then she remembers: two whole days of being with the baby. Quinn groans softly.

The baby is sound asleep. "That makes one of us," Quinn growls without malice. By her reckoning, she'll be awake in a couple of hours, so Quinn figures that she'll go feed herself first.

The warm smells of breakfast and coffee greet her on the stairs, and she follows her nose to the kitchen. "Good morning, Quinn," says Leroy cheerfully. "Bacon and eggs?"

"Uh, good morning, sir," replies Quinn warily. "And yes, thank you."

"You can leave that in the sink," he says, nodding at the empty plate in her hand. "We'll get to that later. Coffee?"

"Yes, please." She accepts the mug from him – which has a photo of a gap-toothed young Rachel printed on the side – and starts adding milk and sugar.

"Ignore him," interjects Hiram. "He's just happy to finally have a normal teenager with a normal teenager's sleeping patterns in this house." Hiram smiles immediately afterwards at Rachel, who is pouring almond milk into her cereal and ignoring him.

"I resent that, Daddy. Especially when you are making that remark to endear yourself to Quinn at my expense."

Hiram laughs. "I'm sure you can't help being so teaseable, sweetie. Now hurry up with your breakfast, we have a busy day today."

Quinn chews on her breakfast in confusion, until she remembers the Berry family schedule on the fridge. Hiram and Rachel will be out of the house all morning, leaving herself and Leroy – _and_ the baby – alone. She isn't quite sure how to react to that, apart from being grateful for some breathing room.

Thankfully, none of the Berrys speak to her until Hiram and Rachel are gone, and it's just Leroy and herself. "If you need me, I'll be in my study," Leroy informs her as they wash the breakfast things. "I assume you'll be in your room doing whatever teenaged girls do."

Quinn nods, opting not to respond verbally. She excuses herself up to her room once the dishes are done. So far, Saturday in the Berry household is surprisingly peaceful. Quinn thinks that may have more to do with Rachel being out of the house, but there's no one around to appreciate that quip.

When the doorbell rings, Quinn is instantly apprehensive. She doesn't want to answer it – what if it's Puck again? But Leroy is the only Berry home, and being her least favorite Berry, she isn't keen on getting him.

So, she steels herself. "I'll get it," she calls in the direction of the study, and receives a muffled acknowledgement from Leroy.

Quinn checks through the peephole and blinks in surprise, rushing to open the door. "S? Britt?"

"Hi Quinn," chirps Brittany. Santana, hands stuffed in the pockets of her Cheerios jacket, grunts.

"What are you guys doing here?" They're both impeccably dressed in Cheerio uniforms. Quinn remembers Saturday morning practices with more than a fraction of jealousy.

"We missed you," says Brittany at the same time Santana says: "Wrong door".

Brittany glances at Santana. "San, it's okay to miss people," she chides her.

"I don't _miss_ Preggo. I miss my punching bag."

"It's wonderful to see you too, Lopez," says Quinn dryly. It really is, though she'd rather listen to a Rachel Berry lecture than to tell Santana; Quinn knows Santana feels the same way.

"Is RuPaul home?" asks Santana, deliberately and obnoxiously trying to peer over Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn winces. Any insult directed at Rachel feels personal, thanks to the healthy dose of guilt and shame that comes with it now. "No, and you shouldn't be calling her that."

Much to her surprise, Brittany pouts at Santana. "San, you promised to be nice."

"She's not here, what she doesn't know ain't gonna kill her."

As much as Quinn is enjoying the discomfort on Santana's face, she knows what it must have cost the other girl to come here. "Do you wanna come in?" asks Quinn.

"Quinn? Who is that at the door? If it's Mr Puckerman, tell him Hiram will have words with his Nana at Temple…" Leroy trails off. "Oh, hello ladies."

"Hi, Mr Berry," says Brittany. "I really like how both you and your husband are both Mr Berrys, it's really convenient, so I don't have to remember which is which."

Quinn can't help but hide a smirk behind her hand as she watches Leroy deal with the force of nature that is Brittany. But Leroy (much to Quinn's disappointment) recovers quickly. "Er… it's nice to meet you both."

"This is Brittany and Santana, Leroy," Quinn adds. "They're in Glee club." She ignores how Santana's eyebrow quirks up subtly.

"It's nice to meet you, Brittany and Santana," Leroy amends. "Would you like to come in?"

"Thanks but no thanks, Mr B –" Santana starts, but is cut off when Brittany says: "We wanted to see the baby."

"Right," says Leroy. "Well, that's up to Quinn..."

"Yeah, okay." She turns and walks into the house, knowing they're following her. Quinn realizes, belatedly, that Leroy didn't need to ask if they were looking for Rachel. She tries and fails to suppress the prick of guilt that follows.

The old Quinn Fabray would have hated how soft she's become with regards to Rachel. But this new Quinn opens the door to the Berrys' guest room and waves towards the crib containing her baby.

Brittany makes a beeline for the crib, leaning over to coo at the infant, wiggling her fingers over the crib. "She can't see you, Britt," says Quinn.

"I know. Rachel told me." Brittany resumes cooing. "I was just saying hi so she knows it's me."

Quinn disregards the rest of her words, focusing on the mention of Rachel. "How does Rachel know that?"

"Rachel has like, a ton of pregnancy books in her locker."

Santana wrinkles her nose. "That's creepy."

"She's just being nice."

"Still creepy."

Quinn ignores her. It figures, really, that even when Rachel isn't here, she would still manage to be part of the conversation. "What are you guys doing here?"

"What, we can't be concerned for you, oh former captain?" drawls Santana.

Quinn arches an eyebrow and waits.

Santana scowls. "Fine. Britt was worried about you, being all alone with the spawn of Puckerman, trapped in the Very Berry Mini Funhouse. She wouldn't let us get some hot action unless I promised to bring her here to reassure her you're not dead." She shifts her weight to her other foot. "... Also, your useless baby daddy may have accidentally slipped a few details about his visit last night."

Quinn groans. "Great. Who else knows?"

"Just us." She neglects to mention the context. Quinn is grateful for that.

Brittany bounds over to Quinn, throwing her arms around her friend. "We could totally beat him up if you want us to," she chirps.

"Uh… thanks for the offer, Britt, but it's okay."

"You know, you never mentioned if you're planning on making your stay in the Berry patch permanent," says Santana. She shoves her hands in the pockets of her Cheerio jacket.

"I… I've got a week here to decide what to do with the baby," says Quinn, deliberately not answering Santana's question.

"Your bitch parents still haven't showed up?"

Quinn's gaze drops to her shoes. "No."

Santana swears.

Quinn smiles, despite her mood. She knows that Santana has difficulty showing that she cares; it's a problem she shares. "Hey," she says.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

She manages to catch the quick grateful look in Santana's eyes, before it's gone. "Whatever."

Brittany sighs. "That sucks. I'm sorry your parents are mean, Q."

"Thanks, Britt."

"I'd offer you a place at mine, but Lord Tubbington established his Doomsday cult in our spare room."

"... I appreciate the offer anyway," says Quinn. "But I think I'll manage."

"That's my girl," says Santana, in a rare fit of affection.

* * *

Her friends leave shortly afterwards, which gives Quinn some time to herself before she's needed downstairs for dinner.

Her parents aren't coming for her. It stings, but Quinn forces herself to accept that as fact. And it's her own fault for even entertaining that; her father had thrown her out of her house, while her mother had watched him do it. Even if she had shown up to take her to the hospital, Quinn should've known that she wouldn't follow through.

Frannie? Quinn briefly considers, then dismisses, the thought of turning to her older sister. Frannie has always been their father's favorite; it was highly likely that she would take his side against Quinn.

That meant that she was alone. Quinn fights the growing lump in her throat; how the _fuck_ is she going to raise a kid on her own?

Despite their assurances they would support whatever decision Quinn makes, it's fairly clear that the Berrys (especially Rachel) are hoping she'll keep the baby.

Which – God, she really shouldn't be considering, either. She's sixteen, she's barely an adult. Quinn knows she should be thinking about all the dreams she had before she got pregnant –

– like winning Prom Queen, marrying Finn Hudson after graduating high school, and settling in Lima to raise their kids. Just like her parents.

She cringes. Surely she should have had higher ambitions than that at some point in her life?

But even if she leaves, there's nowhere else to go. She's equally unwilling to depend on the Joneses, plus there's that deal she has with Leroy… Even though Rachel doesn't know about the deal, she's indebted to the Berrys for the foreseeable future.

The thought sits uneasy. Although that solves nearly all her practical problems – money, a place to stay – Quinn doesn't like the idea of being beholden to anybody. Especially when she had no choice in that matter.

She's preoccupied with that line of thinking all the way until Leroy calls her downstairs for dinner – Quinn picks at her leftover Chinese food because she doesn't have the appetite. She can feel the concerned eyes of the Berry family on her; before they can ask, she mumbles something about going to feed the baby (the first time she finds herself grateful for that excuse).

There's nothing to do but to lie on her bed, stare up at the ceiling, and think blasphemous thoughts. Which is what Quinn does until Rachel lets herself into the room.

"I know you're mad at me," she says without preamble.

The statement comes out of absolutely nowhere, slamming into Quinn like a car at a T-junction. "I'm sorry?" Quinn says, sitting upright so she can stare at Rachel, hoping to catch what she's missing.

"No, _I'm_ sorry," replies Rachel firmly.

Quinn frowns, utterly baffled. "What for?"

"I did some thinking, and I realize now that I put you in a difficult situation," says Rachel. "I'm basically forcing you to keep the baby."

Even with the additional context, Quinn is still struggling to follow Rachel's logic. "Huh?" is her thoughtful, eloquent response.

"I anticipate this to be a long conversation, judging from your reaction. May I sit?"

"Yeah, go for it." She scoots over. "You're gonna have to start from the top, because I have no clue what's going on," Quinn starts.

Rachel sits, primly smoothing out her skirt over her knees. "I've been doing some thinking about what Noah said last night."

"It's been an entire day," says Quinn flatly, "and besides, it's really none of your business."

Rachel has the grace to blush. "Well – I wanted to be absolutely sure I'd considered all the factors, and I wasn't being impulsive, or wilfully ignorant, _or_ overstepping my bounds," she explains, looking sheepish. "I'm aware I've frequently done all of these things."

"Noted."

"Thank you. But I digress. After much reflection – and perhaps a few visits to reputable Internet forums – I am beginning to think that I'm not much better than he is. I've essentially imprisoned you in my home and am forcing you to keep your baby."

Quinn blinks rapidly as she tries to absorb all of this. "Rachel…"

"Please, allow me to finish." Rachel clears her throat. "I can't imagine what you must have felt when I and my fathers barged into the hospital. At the time, I believed I was doing the right thing in giving you time and a safe space to make a decision, but from an outsider's point of view, it looks like we simply spirited you away and kept you prisoner."

Quinn frowns. "Yes, okay, but – "

"– And if you aren't giving Noah any say in the decision despite his status as your baby's father – "

" – _Rachel_ – "

" – I fail to see why I would be any different from him," finishes Rachel in a rush.

"Are you _quite_ done?" Quinn snaps.

"Yes."

"Okay." Quinn purses her lips, pondering over what Rachel has said. Rachel Berry is many things, but self-aware is typically not one of those things. "Honestly? Yes, you _did_ overstep; I mean, yeah, I didn't get any say in whether I wanted to think about it. Or stay here."

Rachel's shoulders slump visibly.

"But I've been thinking, too," Quinn adds. "And I understand what you were thinking."

Rachel glances up.

"I know I didn't wanna think about what to do with the baby," continues Quinn, "but you were right that I needed to consider it carefully. If I had given her up straightaway at the hospital, it would've been for the wrong reasons."

Rachel doesn't ask, but Quinn elaborates anyway. "At that time, I just wanted to be rid of the baby, so that everything could go back to normal. I could go home. I could go back to school. It would be like the last year never happened." Quinn pauses to think over her next words. "But, she's a baby. She'll grow up into an entire person, and I owe it to her at least to take her existence seriously. I didn't want her, but she's here anyway, and I'm responsible for her. I don't know – I think I was so focused on getting her out of me that I never stopped to think about everything else."

"I don't want her to grow up hating me," admits Quinn. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life second-guessing whatever decision I make. Like, what if someone we know adopted her? Like, what if your mom adopted her, and then I'd have to watch her grow up calling another person Mom? Imagine how fucked up that would be?"

"That is an incredibly disturbing train of thought," says Rachel with a shudder. "That will _never_ happen. Shelby Corcoran doesn't want kids; she was merely my fathers' surrogate and she has no interest in forming a parental relationship with me."

Quinn smiles in spite of herself. "I'm being serious, Rachel."

"Yes. Of course."

"So I'm gonna be honest and say what you did wasn't exactly the right thing, but it was something I needed. And I'm not gonna thank you for it, but I understand why you did it."

Rachel exhales, a noisy sigh of clear relief. "Okay. I'm really glad to hear you say that."

"Were you expecting me to yell at you?"

"No," she insists, though she looks away, suspiciously guilty. "Perhaps a little."

"I don't blame you," remarks Quinn. "If we had had this conversation a week ago, I would have."

Rachel nods, expression serious. "Okay," she says. "Good. I'm glad we had this talk. Thank you for being honest with me, Quinn."

"Uh – okay."

Once Rachel leaves, Quinn pulls out her phone and texts Puck.

_we shld talk. Mcd tmr?_

His reply comes barely minutes later.

**cool ill pick u up 11**

Quinn goes downstairs to inform the Berrys of her plans. She finds the family glued to the television watching _MasterChef_ , loudly criticizing the dishes. "Um," she says.

"Yes, Quinn?" Hiram asks, although his attention is still focused on the souffle the chef on TV is making.

"I, uh, I'm gonna go out tomorrow morning. Puck and I need to talk."

Immediately, the family focuses their attention on her. "Do you want one of us there?" asks Leroy.

Quinn briefly entertains the thought of having Leroy, dressed in full uniform, stare Puck down. "I'll be fine," she assures him.

Leroy nods, even as his expression remains guarded.

"If you're sure – " Rachel starts, and then catches herself, biting her lip. Quinn knows she's thinking of their conversation earlier, and she acknowledges Rachel's restraint with a nod.

Hiram smiles warmly at her. "Alright."

* * *

That night, the baby wakes her with soft whimpering, instead of the full-blown wails Quinn has come to expect. "Oh, c'mon," she groans, hauling herself out of bed.

She refuses Quinn's attempts at placating her. Quinn tries everything; bouncing her gently, singing, even some of Rachel's Sondheim. The baby continues to fuss and whimper, restless in Quinn's arms.

"Maybe you're hungry," says Quinn, frowning. She goes down to the kitchen, furrowing her brow in concentration as she tries to remember the maternity ward nurse's instructions to reheat a bottle of breast milk while the baby babbles into her ear.

Before she'd been discharged, a nurse had given her a breast pump and taught her how to use it. That ranked as one of the most awkward conversation in Quinn's life – easily surpassing the time she was forced to sit through a talk about the birds and the bees by her mom when she was fourteen, and on par with when she had asked Hiram for a space in the fridge to store her expressed breast milk.

He'd been very understanding about it, much to Quinn's relief, and had provided a discreet corner for her use. More importantly, he'd never mentioned it again.

Quinn frowns in concentration, testing the milk's temperature before offering the bottle to the baby. Much to her surprise, the baby sucks greedily at the offered rubber teat and settles down. Quinn watches her eat.

It occurs to Quinn – now that the baby isn't crying or sleeping – she is rather cute. Chubby fingers attempt to grip the bottle as she sucks.

"Here…" Quinn steadies it. A small hand closes over one of her fingers. She stares, fascinated, by the juxtaposition of their hands.

* * *

Puck swings by right on time, his truck pulling up outside the Berry house. Quinn is already waiting for him on the porch; the Berrys have been antsy all morning, and she finds their nervous energy discomfiting.

She hops into the cabin of the truck. He drives off. They don't talk.

They stop for McDonald's on the way. Quinn smiles a little when he orders her coffee with one sugar and extra milk, and a sausage McMuffin with bacon without needing to ask. His own order is much larger and greasier, the brown paper bag so large the cashier grunts as he passes it to Puck.

"Do you mind?" he asks.

"No. Pass it here." She lets him ease the bag onto her lap, carefully balancing the tray of drinks on top of that. The smell brings back memories of when she was pregnant and living with Puck. Despite the kosher household, the baby had craved bacon – the greasier the better – and so it fell on the baby's father to make fast food runs. Sunday morning McDonalds had been somewhat of a habit until Quinn had moved in with the Joneses. Quinn finds herself missing those times. As grateful as she was to Aurelia and the Jones family for feeding her, sometimes all she wanted was a greasy breakfast sandwich.

They pull up in their usual spot. She hands him the bag, letting him fish the burgers out.

"It's been a while since we last did this," says Puck, unwrapping his double McMuffin and taking a monstrous bite.

She does the same, albeit in a more ladylike fashion. "Yeah."

"I was surprised when you texted me. Especially after everything," he mumbled around a mouthful of burger.

The awful roiling sensation in her stomach starts up again. "We needed to talk properly," says Quinn. "You were right; it's the least you deserve."

He doesn't say anything. The silence is punctuated by chewing, and the occasional slurp of his drink.

Quinn feels uncomfortable. The weight of everything she'd said weighs on her shoulders. "Puck?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry." She's been saying those words so often these days. She's got a lot to be sorry for. "I didn't mean to yell at you, or say those horrible things."

"Yes, you did." He crumples up his empty burger wrapper, lets it fall from his hands. He still doesn't look at her. "But it's okay. I kinda deserved it."

"Puck," protests Quinn.

"I'm serious." He lifts his head, stares into her eyes. He looks too young to be a father. "I shouldn't have said most of the shit I said. I kinda lost my temper too."

"I shouldn't have been such a bitch about it," says Quinn, "because you're right. We're both responsible for what happened that night."

"Yeah? Because s'far as I see it, all I did was contribute the swimmers, and the best night of your life."

"Puckerman!" Just like that, the tension falls away. It's hard to stay mad at him; harder still because he's an idiot who has never taken anything in his life seriously – until now.

Puck smiles weakly. "I get it. I'm not as dumb as you think I am."

"I've never thought you were stupid."

"Sure felt like it." The way he looks at her worries Quinn. "And us…?"

"There's no _us_ , Puck. There never was." She takes a deep breath. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise."

"Forget it." Puck sighs. "I figured you didn't like me that way. No harm asking, though."

She presses forward before she loses her nerve. "We're responsible for her, but she's not ours. And, Puck… I don't think we can take care of her the way she deserves." Here, she lowers her eyes to the crumpled wrapper on the floor. "I lied about already deciding to sign the papers, but… I want to. I'm sorry."

He presses his lips into a thin line. "I get it."

"I'm sorry," she says again. "This should never have happened."

"I'm sorry too." He exhales softly. "I just didn't want to be like my dad, y'know? Some deadbeat who ups and leaves his kid."

"You're nothing like your dad, and you won't ever be."

Puck chuckles. "I sure hope so. But I'm not sorry this happened. I mean – we can't keep her. Which makes sense, 'cause we're sixteen, and you deserve to get out of this cow town, but it feels a lot like we're abandoning her. That stings."

"You don't know how much I wish things were different," says Quinn sharply.

"No, I _do_ know. That's why it hurts that we don't actually have a choice in this." His shoulders slump. "We have to give her up. It's the best thing for her."

Quinn nods. She reaches for his arm and squeezes. "Thank you for understanding."

He just looks away from her, jaw tight.

* * *

Except it's not as simple as that.

Puck drops her off a short time later. She knows he needs time away from her, and she doesn't begrudge him that. As a peace offering, she's arranged for him to meet the baby after school the next day.

Quinn walks into the Berry house, head swimming with thoughts and is treated to the sight of all three Berrys in front of the TV. The baby is still in her crib, but the entire thing's been hauled downstairs to the living room.

"When I asked you to watch her while I talked to Puck…"

"We _are_ watching her," says Rachel, eyes still glued to the television. She tears her eyes away to smile at Quinn. "How was it?"

"Uh… good," hedges Quinn. Her nervousness is exacerbated when Hiram mutes the TV, and their attention is on her. "Can we not talk about it now?"

"Of course," says Rachel quickly. "Come watch _Project Runway_ with us!"

Quinn frowns, mildly disconcerted by Rachel's abrupt change of topic. "Okay?"

Beaming, Rachel pats the couch seat next to her. Quinn sits. She quickly finds herself filled in on the show and who the family is rooting for.

Something inside tugs at her, telling her to slow down and enjoy this. Sundays in the Fabray house were never like this; her Sunday mornings were spent in pews, dolled up in her starched best dress, and then home for a proper Sunday lunch cooked from scratch. Her father usually retired to his study with a bottle of whisky after that, her mother to the living room with her wine, leaving Quinn to her own devices.

It was lonely after Frannie left and never came back.

Quinn looks at the people in the living room. They aren't her family, not by a long shot, but it says a lot that she feels more at home here than with her own parents.

For the first time since she woke up in the hospital, she doesn't feel completely alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to **_Mike Ownby_** for the usual, as well as the new job of readability fixes. That means he checks if whatever came out of my brain works in text, and that you're getting the full fic experience that I intended :) 
> 
> Meta and notes are in the usual place, the link is in previous chapters' notes.

Even though Quinn's eyes are on the TV, her thoughts are elsewhere.

With the benefit of hindsight, she feels that her talk with Puck could have gone better, somehow. She feels guilty for being honest about her feelings for him – even though Quinn's learned the hard way that lying would have made it worse.

 _But_ , whispers the little voice inside, _if you'd lied, you wouldn't be alone in this._ Puck may be an idiot, but he's the idiot father of her child, and she knows he'd be there for her if she asked him to…

… Even the thought leaves an icky feeling on her skin, and she dismisses it. Quinn wants to believe she's learned something from the past year apart from _never believe a guy when he says "trust me"._ That she's a better person now.

Being a "better" person is such utter _bullshit_ right now, though.

Then Leroy stands up, checks the clock, and says: "I'm gonna get dinner started. Quinn, would you be so kind as to help?"

She doesn't miss the significant look he shoots at her that means he doesn't actually need any help. Nor does she miss the indignant look on Rachel's face. Quinn weighs her options.

If she's honest with herself, Quinn does want to talk to someone about – well, _everything_ that's buzzing around in her head, since trying to handle things on her own blew up in her face spectacularly. Agreeing to give her baby to Terri Schuester hadn't worked out. Neither had pretending Finn was the father because he was much more responsible than Puck.

But when Quinn had gone to an adult – the night she had begged her father to understand – she'd been kicked out of her own home. Her mother had wanted to take her back in, but was nowhere to be found once the baby was born. And here was someone else's dad – two of them – wanting to help. Not her own.

Weren't parents supposed to be the people who loved you most?

The rejection still stings. Quinn looks away, eyes prickling, and composes herself. "Rachel's not doing anything."

"Yes, I'm not doing anything right now," agrees Rachel immediately. It's such a transparent, pathetic attempt to be supportive; and yet, it makes Quinn smile.

"No offence, honey, but given your cooking abilities, I'd much rather have Quinn help," replies Leroy easily.

Against her better judgement, Quinn nods, agreeing with Leroy's assessment, and gets a glare for her trouble.

"Really, Dad, I don't mind lending a hand," Rachel insists. "I'm sure that Quinn has other things to do."

And – _really_? After that little speech she gave Quinn about overstepping her boundaries? It's Quinn's turn to glare at Rachel, who blushes scarlet, but – much to her surprise – doesn't back down.

"I'm fine, _Rachel_ ," she says, careful not to add a sharp word in front of Leroy and Hiram, but she hopes she's still making her ire known.

"I – yes. Of course. I apologize." She clears her throat, smooths down her skirt, and returns her attention to the TV. Leroy shoots Quinn a surprised look as they head into the kitchen, which Quinn ignores.

She's tense; her body poised to lash back out at whatever Leroy might say to her. Rachel had no right to overstep, true; but this is _her_ house, and those were _her_ parents. Already, she's worrying that she's gone too far, and that she might have to pack her bags –

Best get it over with, then.

Once they're out of earshot, she rounds on Leroy and says, point-blank: "I know I shouldn't have."

Leroy frowns. "Shouldn't have what?"

"Snapped at Rachel."

He shrugs in response. "You were fine."

"I thought you'd stick up for her!" Quinn stares incredulously at this blatant betrayal.

"Rachel can fight her own battles. She doesn't need her dads to swoop in and protect her from every problem there is."

"Like me?"

Leroy's expression turns stern. "I thought we'd had this conversation already, Quinn."

She flushes crimson, anger and shame mingling in her stomach. "No, I don't believe we've talked about you and Hiram letting your daughter's bully stay in your house, _and_ taking my side against her."

His eyes narrow. "Are you done?"

" _No_ ," she hisses. "I am so _done_ with waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't know what sick mind games you're playing; all of you treating me like I'm made of glass, or like you're waiting for me to snap and yell at you so you can throw me out. I hate all this _fucking_ uncertainty, and I hate _you_ for forcing me to be here at all."

Leroy doesn't move, doesn't say anything throughout her tirade. Quinn suddenly feels exhausted.

He points at a chair. "Sit."

She does, flopping gracelessly into it, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring daggers at him.

"Do you want to go back to the Joneses?"

"What?"

"It's clear that you hate it here," says Leroy flatly. She flinches. "I can call Aurelia now and have you back there by tonight."

Quinn's face hardens. "Can we not do this right now?" she hisses, glancing at the living room, afraid Rachel will come barrelling in.

"If we don't do this now, we'll just keep glossing over this, and you'll repress all this resentment until you crack. Like you just did."

She feels her face burning hot. But she also feels the familiar fire in her belly that always fuels her when she's confronting someone. It energizes her in a way Quinn's almost forgotten.

He turns away to set a large pot on the burner. "I know you don't really trust adults right now," says Leroy, "least of all me, because I'm forcing you to be here."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Quinn retorts, her voice dripping in acid.

"Don't take that tone with me; we both know very well you needed help, and you wouldn't have accepted my help otherwise," Leroy snaps back with equal venom.

Quinn, startled, swallows the initial response on the tip of her tongue. "Still doesn't mean I have to like it."

Leroy sighs. "Of course you don't." He takes a seat opposite her. "Just tell me what you want, Quinn."

"I didn't want any of this."

"It's too late for that now," he says hotly. "Just accept that so you can move on. Do you want to go back to the Joneses?"

"I want to stay here."

The bald admission shocks them both; arguably, Quinn more than Leroy. "I-I mean…" she stammers, "I've already moved here from _there_ , I don't want to move back again…"

He scrutinizes her for a long moment, before he nods. "Alright," he says. "But I'm going to set some ground rules. You don't get to bully Rachel. Here, or in school. No insults, no slushies, no whatever you and your Cheerios did. Ever again. Is that clear?"

"I already stopped," Quinn mutters, but it's a weak excuse and she knows it.

"You're an intelligent young woman; you know what I mean."

Quinn can't resist. "I thought you let her fight her own battles."

"These are special circumstances." He fixes her with a glare. "Now that's out of the way, I want to make it absolutely clear there is no other shoe, Quinn. There are no mind games. You are the only one in this house who is hung up about bullying Rachel last year."

She opens her mouth indignantly, but Leroy continues talking. "Next rule," he adds, "no more tantrums."

Quinn bristles but decides to hold her tongue.

"I was brought up to talk about my problems constructively, not bottle them up until I lash out at everyone. This isn't your house; neither Hiram nor myself are your father. We're not going to punish you if we don't like whatever you have to say to us or Rachel, as long as you do it in a _constructive_ manner."

It feels like someone has pricked the balloon inside her that is holding all her anger. Everything drains out of Quinn, leaving her cold and empty. "Fine."

"Are we clear?"

"Yes."

Leroy nods. "Good."

"But I have a question."

Leroy looks amused. "Go on."

Quinn gestures at their surroundings. "Did you actually need help, or was this your terrible attempt at interrogating me about what went down this morning?"

Leroy looks embarrassed. Quinn feels a surge of vindication. "A little of both, to be honest," he says, and she appreciates his honesty. "Though," Leroy adds, smiling at her, "I also figured that chopping up some poor, innocent vegetables might help you feel better."

It startles a laugh out of her. "Yeah, that _would_ , actually," Quinn admits.

"Wonderful. Then vegetable soup for dinner it is." He hands her an apron. "How comfortable are you in the kitchen?" he asks, busying himself gathering ingredients.

"I know how to feed myself." Quinn's repertoire consists of staple dishes and finicky special-occasion meals with no in between. She doesn't say any of this, though; Quinn thinks she's said enough for today.

"Good, good." He passes her a few potatoes, leeks, and carrots. "Cut these into half-inch cubes, please."

"Okay."

"You're lucky it's my week to cook; Hiram's dinners are usually out of a designer cookbook," continues Leroy as he minces garlic. "It's not exactly to my taste."

He's smiling, though. The words, "You don't seem to mind," slip out of Quinn before she can stop herself, and she bites her lip.

To her relief, Leroy doesn't seem offended; he chuckles. "He was a lot worse before we had Rachel. We drove to Columbus for groceries once because he saw a recipe for smoked partridge breasts and lord knows how diverse and well-stocked Lima's supermarkets are. I swear, that man drives me crazy sometimes."

She keeps quiet, unsure of how to respond, struck by how… _normal_ it sounds. How much like a normal _couple_ , that is. Despite her father's condemnation of homosexuals, Quinn has never shared his fire and brimstone views – she has always suspected the 'friendship' between Brittany and Santana runs deeper than they let on – but she's never met anyone so… _comfortable_ with being _different._ Being like everyone else but not really.

But then Rachel comes into the kitchen, pulling Quinn from her thoughts. She fetches a mug and fills it at the tap, clearly doing her best to act nonchalant.

"You alright there, honey?" asks Leroy, sounding as though he's trying very hard not to laugh.

Rachel's back stiffens. "Yes, dad, thank you for asking." And she practically scuttles out of the kitchen.

Quinn snorts.

"I swear, Hiram's exactly the same way. She got it from him," comments Leroy with a shake of his head.

She decides not to respond. She has other, more important things to think about than Rachel Berry. "Before, when you said you'd have a place here for one or two…?"

Leroy stops chopping. "I did say that."

Quinn's teeth press into her lower lip, briefly. "You really don't care whether I keep the baby?"

"We don't, and neither do the Joneses," Leroy gently reminds her.

"Okay." Quinn concentrates hard on cutting celery.

She doesn't know where that outburst came from. It isn't like she hated living with the Joneses, or that she loves being in close proximity 24/7 with Rachel's crazy…

 _God_. It's just not possible that she wants to stay here because she _likes_ these people. She doesn't – she can't like two gay men who treat her like she's –

– an adult.

Which is her breakthrough moment. Aurelia and her husband, Mark, treated her like a teenager. Hiram and Leroy have treated her like an _adult_.

And if she's honest with herself? She stopped being a teenager the day she held her baby in her arms for the first time, and she's not sure if she can go back.

No matter how much she wants that.

"Quinn? If you're done with your veg, I'm ready for you now."

She blinks. "Yeah. Hang on."

* * *

With all the drama that's been going on, it doesn't hit Quinn that she goes back to school tomorrow until Hiram reminds her that he has driving duty for the week.

Quinn isn't looking forward to school; not with Puck there, and being another day closer to making a decision. She runs her spoon through her soup distractedly, lifting it, then letting soup spill back into the bowl. It's not a slight against the soup in any way – it's surprisingly good for a vegan recipe – but the thought of school effectively killed her appetite.

Quinn notices Rachel watching her like a hawk. She helps herself to another piece of garlic bread (the non-vegan ones Leroy made with plenty of butter) in the vain hope it will put the other girl off. It's warm and buttery, just the way she likes it; Quinn thinks Leroy made it as an apology for earlier, and for the vegan menu.

But Rachel is undeterred. She keeps shooting her little, worried looks throughout dinner, which Quinn ignores, unwilling to deal with both Rachel's brand of concern and – _herself_ , to be honest.

Losing her temper with Leroy earlier was cathartic. And as much as she hates to admit it, she does believe his words – just as she doesn't believe Puck.

Quinn scowls. He's not grown-up enough; he spent his time playing games or hanging out when she was staying at his place. Puck isn't going to be the one holding the baby, or singing her to sleep, or getting up in the middle of the night to soothe her –

– like Rachel does.

She blinks rapidly, astonished by the audacity of her thoughts for the second time today.

Meanwhile, the older Berrys carry on their own conversation, talking about work and plans for the upcoming summer holidays. Quinn puts her spoon down. "May I be excused, please?"

Leroy frowns at her half-finished soup and bread. "Is that all you're eating?"

"I'm full."

"At least finish your garlic bread. I made that especially for you." Leroy arches an eyebrow, and continues shamelessly: "It'll be a shame if it goes to waste."

She glares at him; he stares back at her. The battle of wills ends when Quinn grudgingly nods. "I'm taking it up to my room."

"If you bring down your plate later _and_ wash it, we have a deal."

Rachel shakes her head, seemingly scandalized. Quinn takes comfort in the fact that it seems likely Leroy will get a dressing-down from his daughter once Quinn's out of earshot.

* * *

She is prepared this time, when the soft cries of the baby wake her from a troubled sleep. Quinn brings the baby downstairs while she reheats the bottle, afraid her cries might summon Rachel. She can't handle Rachel right now, not when it's just the two of them and she'll have no choice but to be honest.

So Quinn finds herself standing in the Berry kitchen at an ungodly hour, absently swaying on her feet as she hums a lullaby she used to love as a child.

And…

She doesn't hate it. Hate _her_. Quinn stares down at the baby in her arms as she contentedly sucks on her bottle.

"You're not making this any easier," Quinn grumbles.

She feels like someone's given her a hard shake, knocking all her pieces out of place, and that she is trying to put herself back together. Except it's becoming apparent that she doesn't even know who Quinn Fabray was in the first place.

Certainly, she knows who she's _supposed_ to be, but it seems less of a priority now.

* * *

"Did she wake you up last night?"

Quinn shoots a furtive glance in Rachel's direction. "Yeah, but I was expecting it. She quieted after she'd gotten her bottle." Quinn smiles triumphantly. "Didn't need you coming to the rescue again, Berry."

Unless she was sorely mistaken, Rachel actually looks disappointed. But it's gone in seconds as she beams at Quinn. "I'm glad to hear that, Quinn."

* * *

When they get out of the car, Quinn is surprised to see most of the glee club standing around outside the school. "What're you guys doing here?"

"Waiting for you!" Brittany says brightly, as Mercedes, Tina, and Kurt flap at her like a bunch of distressed chickens, saying "shhhh".

"Waiting for…" Quinn repeats, and then sees Rachel looking shifty. "Oh."

"I may have enlisted some help keeping Noah away from you for at least today," mutters Rachel. "And anyone else who wants to give you a hard time."

Quinn's cheeks flame. "I, uh, thanks, Rachel."

"You're very welcome."

Then Matt and Mike are on either side of Quinn, talking animatedly about all the math homework they did _not_ do over the weekend as they shepherd her into the building. The rest of Glee follows them in, and it's almost like everything is normal again.

Until she spots the Slushies.

She knows the leering faces behind the Slushies well; she got used to them when she was pregnant. But it's never been an ambush like this. Quinn defiantly steels herself, lifting her chin, channelling as much Head Cheerio as she can.

"Welcome back, Preggo," says Karofsky, his smile cruel. "Got you a welcome present from all of us," he adds, nodding at the jumbo slushie in his hand, and exchanging leers with the other football players around him.

"David! Don't you dare!" Rachel snaps.

It startles Quinn a lot more than it startles Karofsky, because – Rachel wasn't there until a second ago, and now she's standing to Quinn's left, not-so-subtly edging in front of Quinn as though trying to take the hit. "Put that away!"

It would be ridiculous except this is McKinley, and slushies really are their equivalent of guns.

Karofsky grins. "Oooh, it's the loudhailer." His goons snigger. "Whatcha gonna do? Sing at me? I'm _so_ scared." He mimes a shiver.

Mike and Matt exchange glances, then Mike goes to flank Rachel, while Matt sticks closer to Quinn. "Back off, dude," says Matt.

"Yeah? Why don't you make me, Rutherford?" Karofsky shoves him; Matt shoves back.

Out of nowhere, Finn appears, pushing the boys apart. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Karofsky," he says. "Unless you and your buddies feel like running wind sprints today."

The other footballers mutter darkly but walk away; Karofsky, sensing he's lost, backs off. "Whatever." He contemptuously tosses the Slushie into a nearby bin. "I got better things than to catch loser-itis from being near all of you." He slouches down the hallway, elbowing a nervous freshman out of his path.

Rachel smiles gratefully at the guys. "Thank you," she says, leaning into Mike and Matt.

"We didn't do anything."

"You didn't abandon us," says Rachel simply. "That counts for a lot in my book."

Finn doesn't seem to acknowledge Quinn's presence. "You okay, Rach?"

"I am. Thank you for standing up for us, Finn."

Quinn nods at them all. School hasn't even started yet, and she's already exhausted. "Thanks." She could mention that he wasn't even there when she needed him before, but that would be ungracious, and she can't afford to burn every bridge she has.

Finn gives her a lopsided smile, and – it's something.

* * *

The rest of her day is thankfully relatively drama-free; she still hears whispers behind her back, but she doesn't elicit a Red Sea response when she walks through the hallways. The teachers are busy winding up the school year, their hearts clearly not in the classroom; the rest of the student body is already making summer plans.

The formerly-knocked-up ex-Cheerio is old news, after all.

Even so, she's glad to be done with classes and moving on to Glee. Quinn picks a seat at the back of the room, where she's promptly joined by Mercedes and Kurt. Rachel's already present, sitting at the front with Finn; she glances at Quinn when she enters, but Quinn ignores her.

Mercedes takes the seat beside her. "So how was your weekend, Quinn?" asks Mercedes.

Quinn glances surreptitiously in Rachel's direction before answering. "Horrible."

Mercedes snorts. Kurt tuts at them both.

"Really? It was that bad?"

"Well…" And Quinn is stuck. Explaining just how _horrible_ her weekend was would entail telling them about Puck, and she knows that Kurt and Mercedes are the two biggest gossip hounds in the school. It's so easy for her to imply Rachel being her usual self is just as horrible as they think it would be.

But she made a deal with Leroy, and – Rachel doesn't deserve it anyway.

"Puck showed up," she says. "He wants us to be a couple, and to raise the baby together."

"I take it that you didn't want that," remarks Kurt dryly.

"No. We fought about it. He's pretty upset with me."

"Ouch." Kurt reaches over to pat her hand. "That explains why Rachel had us wait for you this morning. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," says Quinn, and finds that she means it. "I told him I don't like him that way. He took it pretty well, but… it's just kinda awkward."

Puck chooses that moment to slink in. He glances at her, and picks the farthest seat from her, crossing his arms across his chest.

Mercedes tuts. "I get that."

Quinn sighs.

"So, if you turned Puckerman down, what _are_ you gonna do, then?"

And Quinn doesn't have an answer yet.

* * *

Quinn feels like she can finally breathe after Mr Shue dismisses them for the day. Just as she's gathering up her things, Mercedes pats her arm. "Don't leave yet, we've still got to rehearse for Mr Schue's performance," she mutters under her breath.

She sighs. "Yeah, okay."

Quinn doesn't have much input. She sings when she's supposed to, keeping quiet when Rachel and Kurt bicker about last-minute changes to the arrangement. When they bring up costumes, Quinn accepts Tina's offer of an old T-shirt, and Brittany's old jeans (they should be fine if she rolls up the cuffs).

The meeting automatically breaks up when Santana and Brittany walk out of the choir room, pinkies linked. The other Glee clubbers file out in twos and threes after them.

Except for her, and for Rachel and Finn.

They don't seem to have noticed that the meeting's over, both wrapped up in their own little conversation. Quinn watches dispassionately for a minute or so, before clearing her throat when they completely ignore her presence.

She doesn't feel anything. All that old jealousy and anger is a distant ache, a vestige of a time when life seemed so much simpler.

"Hey," she says.

Immediately they break off to glance at her, looking awkward.

"God, Berry, you can talk to him," says Quinn, rolling her eyes. "It's not like I'm gonna pull your hair out for talking to my ex-boyfriend."

Rachel's eyes widen.

"I was _joking_."

Finn shuffles his feet, looking uncomfortable. "Didn't sound like you were joking. Sounded like Scary Quinn."

"I beg your pardon?" Quinn asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

He blanches. "Uh, sorry."

Quinn sighs. "Forget it, Finn. Just… whatever. I'm not here to be a bitch to you."

He nods. "Oh. That's great."

Rolling her eyes, Quinn decides to ignore him until a small movement draws her attention, and she spots Rachel treading on Finn's foot out of the corner of her eye. She's tiny compared to him, so it takes a while for Finn to notice what she's doing, and longer still to figure out why she's doing it.

Quinn fights the urge to snap at them both.

"I'll see you at home later?" says Rachel brightly. "I need to help Finn work on his breath control technique."

"Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"

Rachel blushes. "I know what you're implying, Quinn, but it's not like that. While Finn and I do have chemistry – and a considerable amount of mutual attraction – things have been rather complicated recently and we've decided to focus on being friends for now."

Finn, meanwhile, is suddenly intently focused on the ceiling.

"Isn't your dad supposed to be picking us up? Like, now?" says Quinn curtly, not in the mood for a Rachel Berry-style overshare.

"I'll text him."

"Fine." She picks up her binder and heads for the exit.

"Quinn, wait," Finn says just before she can leave.

"Yeah?"

He shuffles uncomfortably. "Can I, er, talk to you for a sec?"

"Okay."

She follows him a little way down the corridor towards the stairwell. Finn looks incredibly nervous, like he did the first time he asked her to go out with him.

"So," he starts, scuffing the linoleum with his sneaker, "I wanted to say sorry for ignoring you last week."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Ignoring me?"

"Last Friday," he clarifies.

"Yeah, I got that. But what do you mean, ignoring me?"

Finn looks confused. "Not talking to you and stuff."

She gets it. She thinks he doesn't want her to get the wrong idea after he'd stood up for her this morning. "It's fine, Finn."

"Like, I know things between us haven't been the best, but I was mad at you, over the baby and all." He frowns. "You lied about a lot of stuff and hurt me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "It's cool. I'll get over it. I just needed some time to think it over, 'cause Rachel apologized for telling me 'cause it wasn't her place, but it was good she did, and – "

"– did Rachel put you up to this?" Quinn interjects, irritation prickling at her.

"No! No. She didn't, like, force me to talk to you or anything. I just wanted to do it 'cause it's the right thing to do." Finn shoves his hands into his pockets. "I _was_ mad at you, but she explained that you were having a hard time, and you did a lot of the stuff you did because you didn't have a choice. So it's not fair of me to keep being mad at you for things that aren't really your fault."

"Okay," says Quinn, bemused. "Finn – are you forgiving me for lying to you, or for sleeping with Puck?"

He frowns. "Uh… all of it?"

"... Okay." She doesn't know what to make of it – least of all, how exactly Rachel is involved in this – but Quinn's tired of what she now sees as superfluous drama. "I accept your apology, Finn, if you'll forgive me for lying to you."

"Yeah, of course. We're good." He beams at her, and for a brief moment – she remembers why she wanted Finn to be the baby's father.

Then he clears his throat and says: "Uh – I gotta go meet Rachel," and the spell breaks. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," says Quinn, managing a smile for him. "See you later, Finn."

* * *

Hiram swings by punctually, baby in tow. "Where's Rachel?"

"She's with Finn," says Quinn. "She said she'll text you."

If the name sounds familiar, he doesn't let on. "Ah," says Hiram, pulling out of the school parking lot. "Well then. I'll just remind her she has a strict curfew on school nights. And what about you?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing on after school?"

"No." She's uncomfortable.

"Ah." Hiram is distracted, momentarily, when he pulls onto the main road. "Quiet night in, then?"

"I guess."

He doesn't say anything after that. Quinn lets out the breath she doesn't realize she'd been holding, and turns her gaze outside until they pull up outside the Berry house. "I'm going to make myself hot chocolate," says Hiram, "would you like some?"

She knows a ploy to get her to talk when she sees one, but Quinn finds that she doesn't really care. "Okay," she says. Quinn settles the baby in the crib in the living room and sits in the kitchen.

Hiram chuckles. "This isn't an interrogation. You don't need to look so terrified."

"Leroy said about as much," Quinn fires back.

"He's a police officer. He doesn't know how to do subtle, believe it or not," says Hiram, tone light.

Quinn shakes her head. "I'll have that hot chocolate if you promise not to talk."

"Deal," chuckles Hiram.

* * *

She hears Rachel before she sees her.

Quinn had grand plans for her evening: feed the baby, do homework until Leroy comes home with dinner, and then back to her room until it's time to sleep. But the baby hasn't stopped fussing, so Quinn has her homework spread out on the kitchen table while Hiram coos at the baby.

"You didn't have to stay down here," Hiram had told her. And she'd been tempted.

But she's inconvenienced everyone enough. The baby spends weekdays at Hiram's office and it's her fault. Quinn only wants to be beholden to one Berry at a time.

So she's working her way through calculus when she hears Rachel's distinctive laugh. Followed by Finn's deeper chuckle.

Her throat tightens.

Hiram peers at the door. "Do I need to flick the porch lights?" he wonders aloud. He's looking at Quinn as he says it, so, clearly looking for a reaction from her.

Quinn isn't going to give him one. She shrugs. "Do whatever you want."

Hiram glances at her as he heads towards the door; Quinn is indifferent. She's been on the receiving end of a lot of looks today.

* * *

Her life goes by in a blur until Wednesday night. She stands by numbly as Hiram and Leroy make arrangements for tomorrow.

Rachel keeps trying to catch her eye. Quinn is determined not to look at her, because seeing that look of complete empathy will be more than she can bear.

"All right," says Leroy, putting his phone back into his pocket, "we're all set, Miss Thing. We'll be leaving at ten."

Quinn nods, throat tight. "Okay."

* * *

She wasn't expecting to get any sleep tonight. At the very least, the baby seems to understand the gravity of the situation, and settled down immediately after her night feeding.

So why is Rachel Berry outside her door?

"Quinn? Are you awake?"

She grunts. "No, I'm asleep," Quinn calls back, rolling over and pulling the covers over her head. God, it's hot. With a little luck, she'll probably suffocate to death overnight, magically solving all her problems.

There's a pause, before Rachel says, "Funny. May I come in?"

"If I say no, you'll come in anyway, won't you?"

"Possibly," she admits, "but I'd much rather have your permission. I don't want to intrude."

"And where was this consideration for my feelings all year?"

"I'll be happy to discuss this in further detail, but I'd rather not do it through a locked door," comes Rachel's testy reply.

Quinn grunts. The one quality she lacks, which Rachel possesses in abundance, is patience. "Fine. Let yourself in. Door's not locked."

By the time Quinn kicks off the blankets, climbs out of bed, and pats down her hair, Rachel is inside. She's wearing a hideously pink flannel pajama set, spangled all over with gold stars, the look completed with matching pink fluffy slippers.

"God, Berry, what are you wearing?"

"Pajamas," Rachel fires back. "My poor circulation necessitates dressing adequately for bed."

Quinn, clad in an old camp T-shirt and shorts, feels hot just looking at her. "Fine, fine. Just… I don't know what to say. I don't know what I was expecting, even, given that it's you."

Rachel shrugs it off. "How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy," Quinn practically snarls. "Couldn't you guess?"

"Ah. I take that to mean I shouldn't have asked the painfully obvious."

She likes that Rachel isn't so horribly clueless anymore. "What gave me away?"

Rachel sighs. "May I sit?" she asks, and does without waiting for Quinn's reply. "Quinn, you're a good person. No matter what you choose tomorrow, because that decision will be made out of love. Nobody can fault you for that."

"Yeah? Tell that to my parents. And McKinley. And most of this cow town."

"Perhaps, but do their opinions matter? The Glee club cares about you. So do my dads, and Mercedes' parents."

"You don't understand, Berry."

Rachel smiles faintly at her. "You know me, Quinn. I'm open to explanations."

Quinn exhales. "Look. You don't know what it was like for me, growing up with my dad. He… he only had brothers, and he really wanted sons to take fishing, and play catch with, and spend Sunday afternoons tuning up the car with. Instead, he got me and Frannie."

"Frannie was his golden girl. Salutatorian, Head Cheerio, Prom Queen. Full ride to Ohio State. She was a real daddy's girl, and she made him be okay with not having sons. But me?" Quinn laughs bitterly. "I was an odd duck. I wasn't girly like Frannie. I wanted him to teach me how to fix a carburetor, and to shoot a gun. But that's not what he wanted, y'know? He wanted another Frannie, or a boy, and he didn't know what to make of me."

Quinn bows her head, staring down at her hands. "I thought I was on track. He was so proud when I told him I'd been made Head Cheerio, youngest ever to hold the title. And I lost all of that because of one mistake. Years of hard work down the drain."

Rachel startles her by reaching over to grip her hand. "I'm sorry."

Quinn nods. There's a part of her that wants to kick Rachel out, to scream at her as though she's responsible for all her problems. Rachel would probably let her; it worries Quinn a little. "This is my chance," she says. "I can give her to someone who can look after her better than I can. I can go back to my life like all of this never happened."

"If you've already decided, why are you so upset now?"

Quinn pauses. It's a good question; it's just not a question she wants to answer. "Why are you doing this?" slips out before Quinn can stop herself.

"I just want you to have no regrets about your decision, Quinn."

"What are you, a fucking saint?"

"I don't think I can be a saint. I'm Jewish." Rachel taps her lip with a finger thoughtfully. "But if it _were_ possible, I think it would be nice if I could be a patron saint of music. Or singing."

"Are you seriously telling me that you've thought about this?"

"I like to keep an open mind," replies Rachel, just as seriously.

"Figures."

Rachel shrugs. "You know… I was crushed that Shelby didn't want a relationship with me."

"Way to be subtle about changing the subject, Berry."

Rachel acknowledges the comment with a tilt of her head. "I know it's dumb to be upset. She was a surrogate, she signed a contract. Shelby knew she would possibly never see me again; it was a fluke that we even found each other."

"So, why are you so hung up on that?" Quinn asks, even though she suspects she already knows the answer. "It's not like she ever wanted to get to know you, let alone be your mom."

"I have two dads, Quinn. I was a precocious child, enough to know that a mother is required for procreation."

Quinn makes a disgusted face at her. Rachel doesn't react, continuing, "When I was old enough to fully understand adoption, my dads told me everything. So, I knew I had a mom out there as well. My dads are the best parents anyone could have, but it didn't stop me from wondering what my mom was like."

"I've long suspected that part of the reason I was bullied so badly was because I had to teach myself how to wear makeup, or do my hair, or any of the usual feminine things. My dads tried, of course, but it wasn't the same."

Quinn fidgets a little.

"I was so excited when I found her because I thought I didn't have to wonder anymore what having a mom would feel like." Rachel looks down at her hands. "But, as we all know, that was shot to hell. Shelby's my mother, not my mom, and she will never be."

"I'm sorry Shelby sucks," says Quinn sincerely.

Rachel giggles. "Thanks. But my point is… your little girl is going to have a great life, no matter what. Look at me, I turned out just fine."

"If you were me, what would you do?" Quinn asks quietly.

"I'd keep her," says Rachel just as quietly. "I know what it's like to grow up without a mom."

"You're saying that no matter how wonderful her adoptive parents are, she's always going to wonder what her biological mom is like."

Rachel sighs. "I suppose I am. I apologize; I came here with the intention of assuaging your fears, but I fear I haven't helped very much."

Quinn turns her attention back to the sleeping baby in the crib. "Can I ask you something, Rachel?"

"Of course."

"Why did you get them to do it?"

"Do what, Quinn?"

"Walk me into school. I was fine last Friday without an escort."

Rachel blinks rapidly. "Well, that's... I may or may not have overheard your conversation with my dad on Sunday. I had no idea you felt that way," she says in a rush, as though fearful of Quinn's reaction, but wanting to get everything out. "It's not much, but I thought that would've helped you with whatever you're going through. Of course I have no clue _exactly_ what you're going through, but I just wanted to do something to help. Something other than overstep my boundaries."

"... So, you didn't make Finn apologize?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget it," says Quinn.

Rachel frowns at her, but complies.

* * *

She's thrown up twice so far; immediately after she woke up, and again after breakfast. She does it like a Fabray; quietly, with her dignity intact. Quinn brushes her teeth thoroughly. She thinks she may be back soon, judging from the way her stomach is turning over itself, even with nothing but bile in it.

"Ms. Cummings will be with you shortly," says the receptionist.

Quinn barely hears Leroy thanking the woman. All her attention is on the baby in her arms, wrapped in the same pink baby blanket she left the hospital in.

She'd burst into tears the first time she met the baby. She's hoping there won't be a repeat performance.

None of the Berrys have said a word to her so far – even Rachel, who looks conflicted, but is still keeping quiet. Distantly, Quinn appreciates their silence.

"Quinn. It's lovely to see you again," says Ashley warmly.

Quinn nods stiffly.

"Have you come to a decision?"

Time stands still. Quinn's chest feels tight, like the universe is collectively holding its breath, waiting for her answer. Memories of the past year flash through her mind; of finding out she was pregnant, of being kicked out. Being shuttled from house to house. Finn's face, then Puck's. Of the day her baby was born.

"I'm keeping her," Quinn hears herself say. Her voice sounds detached.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience through this long hiatus. Hope this chapter reassures you that I haven't abandoned this fic. As always, edits, readability fixes, and resolution of continuity paradoxes are handled by _**Mike Ownby**_.
> 
> Meta and notes are in the usual place, on my [Tumblr](https://yumi-michiyo.tumblr.com/tagged/story%3A-bird-on-the-wire).

The silence that falls after Quinn's declaration stretches too long to be comfortable. Quinn feels panic clawing at her insides, threatening to spill over. She stiffens her back and lifts her chin, half-hoping her perfect posture gives them the impression that she knows what she's doing.

The entire time, the words _it's still not too late to change your mind_ float at the back of her mind.

Hiram clears his throat, the sound making Quinn jump. "If you're sure," he says, glancing at her over his glasses.

She opens her mouth. No sound comes out; Quinn swallows, moistening her throat, and then tries again. "I'm sure."

He waits until she finally meets his eyes. Quinn is surprised to find he is smiling at her. "All right, then. Would you like me to go over the paperwork with Ashley, or would you want to do that yourself?"

"I…" She swallows again. "I'll do it. I just need… I'll be back."

Quinn exits the office, pausing outside the door for a moment. The crowded corridor doesn't feel less claustrophobic than the room. Quinn starts walking until she finds a bathroom.

Alone, she closes her eyes and allows herself a moment. Quinn leans over the sink and splashes cold water on her face; it forces her thoughts away from the panicking and on herself. She leans forward and just focuses on breathing.

It would be foolish to pretend she isn't scared; of the decision she's just made, of the consequences of her decision that will last for her lifetime, of everyone looking at her and thinking she doesn't know any of this. The whispers behind her back that won't be confined to McKinley High. Quinn has a sudden vision of herself, bedraggled, walking down the street surrounded by a forest of snide voices.

God, it's like she didn't think about any of this before she decided on keeping the baby. Quinn grimaces at her reflection.

Footsteps from outside draw Quinn's attention. She half-expects to see Rachel coming in after her; Rachel has never learned how to leave her alone when she runs off like this. She braces herself and waits.

To her surprise, the footsteps pass her by.

Quinn is… relieved. And a little disappointed. It's just her, meaning she can't lash out at Rachel. She can't try to express everything she's feeling by using Rachel as a punching bag, and anxiety claws at her stomach, mixing with the ever-present guilt.

Well, she _was_ going on about being treated like an adult, wasn't she? And here she is, running from her very adult decision like a teenager. Unable to vent her emotions or deal with the consequences of her actions like an adult.

Quinn firms her jaw, lifting her head to lock eyes with the girl in the mirror. "Get a grip on yourself, Fabray," she growls – and it's a little pathetic when she takes in the red-eyed, damp-haired girl staring defiantly back at her. She's spent long enough waiting for someone to save her from herself. So, Quinn decides, maybe it's time she stopped waiting and did it herself.

* * *

She sails back into the room, head held high, expression fixed. Everyone jumps to attention; it reminds her of the Cheerios' locker room back when she was boss, which lifts her spirits a little.

"You're back," says Rachel, completely unnecessarily, and shoots a dark look at her fathers. Quinn takes that to mean that Rachel's staying put wasn't her idea.

"Yeah," she says, and turns to look at Ashley. "I think there are some forms I need to sign?"

Ashley nods. She has a folder on her desk, Quinn notices; the hospital administrator produces a few papers from it. Quinn recognizes her own handwriting on a few. "Sign these," explains Ashley, tapping her pen on a few places, "and fill this out."

Quinn takes the proffered pen. It's deja vu from a week ago, except Rachel is sullenly watching and not barging in to stop her.

She signs her name on the dotted lines; _QFabray, QFabray_. The tail of the 'y' in Fabray curls wildly and erratically over the paper each time. She ignores it.

Ashley gathers up the forms, gives them a quick look through, then sets them back down. "Well," she says, smiling at her, "congratulations on your new daughter, Quinn."

"Thank you."

"Have you thought of a name?"

Now, this is something Quinn has an answer for. It's the least she can do for Puck. "Beth." She spells it out, for Ashley to print in neat block letters.

"Any middle name?"

"No."

And just like that, the baby ceases to be a remote object and becomes Beth, a person. Her person.

Everything after that passes in a blur.

Hiram takes a copy of all the paperwork, tucking the plastic folder into his briefcase. Leroy has a hand on Rachel's shoulder. And Quinn…

Quinn has the baby. _Her_ Beth.

"Quinn?"

She braces herself. "Yeah?"

"That's a beautiful name." Rachel gives her a small smile.

Startled, Quinn returns the smile. "Thanks."

After that, there's silence. Quinn doesn't want to question it, but she does find it a little unnerving because this is Rachel Berry, and the Rachel she knows doesn't keep her thoughts under lock and key.

That's Quinn's domain.

But for now, she has other things to do; there's the forms to take from Hiram and keep somewhere safe. The baby needs to have a nap so she can have her evening bottle. And after that, there's the rest of her life to think about.

* * *

She's just put the baby – _Beth_ – in her crib when she hears a knock on her open door.

Leroy is standing on the threshold. He clears his throat when Quinn meets his eyes. "So," he starts, "I think we need to talk."

Her heart leaps into her throat. "I…"

"Not about you and Beth's living arrangements," he interrupts. "We meant it when we said you would always have a home with us, whether it was for one or two people." He pauses to smile at her.

She smiles back, hesitantly, unsure of how else to react. It seems to be the cue Leroy is waiting for, as he adds: "No, I wanted to discuss the terms of your repayment."

"Oh."

"So far, I believe you owe us for your hospital fees, and the care and keeping of the both of you," he says pleasantly. "We're perfectly happy to wait for you to graduate from college and be financially stable; goodness knows Rachel might not. You didn't hear that from me."

Quinn knows her expression's gone sour when he reminds her of the hospital fees.

Leroy doesn't bat an eyelid. "Hiram is more than happy to go on with the babysitting arrangement. I don't know if you'd want to pick up a part-time job, but I'm sure he could use a part-time receptionist, and he'll be able to work something out that won't interfere with your schooling. Plus, that would give you more time with Beth."

She goes on nodding.

"You look scared to death. I thought we'd established that I'm all bark and no bite?"

"All bark and no bite?" Quinn repeats incredulously. "You're a grown-ass man discussing terms of repayment with a homeless teenage single mom."

He flushes, the color noticeable even with his complexion; Quinn feels a surge of vindictive pride.

"I see Rachel wasn't exaggerating when she said your acerbic wit could burn holes through steel," says Leroy at last.

Quinn doesn't quite know how to respond. She settles for a half-hearted,"She doesn't know the half of it," and looks away.

Leroy gazes at her appraisingly before changing the subject. "Mm. Are you planning on attending college?"

"Yes, of course. Even before…" She turns her head, glancing at the crib.

"Mmhmm. Wonderful. I don't see why we shouldn't help you with part of the tuition. You'd be able to pay us back faster with a degree."

She shoots him her best acidic stare.

Much to Quinn's surprise, he smiles back at her. "Jokes aside, I'm glad you're planning on college. You're a smart girl, Quinn; I don't see why you should even think of putting your schooling on hold just because of Beth." Leroy wears this expression Quinn has learned to recognize is his "I-mean-business" face; presumably the same one he wears when arresting people.

She knows better than to argue with him. "Thank you, Leroy," she says instead, ducking her head.

Leroy chuckles. "Good to see you've decided to cooperate."

"Believe me, I didn't have a choice," says Quinn, arching an eyebrow, not actually meaning it for once.

But Leroy's expression changes. "Would you like me to call your mother, Quinn?"

The question is unexpected; Quinn's mouth twists as she considers it. "Why? I don't think she'll choose me over my dad. Nothing's changed, and…" She glances over at the crib. "It's not just me anymore."

"Oh." Leroy frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." It's really not, but Quinn's reached a point where she can't muster up the energy to process that.

"I can leave, if you want."

Quinn shrugs one shoulder. "I don't really mind either way," she says, and goes over to the crib for lack of anything better to do.

Even though her back is turned, she hears the creak of springs that tells her Leroy is sitting on her bed. "Did I ever tell you how I ended up in Lima?" he says conversationally. "It's not that hard to believe, really, being the most welcoming place in the Midwest. They practically roll out the welcome mat for everyone: gay men, teenage mothers..."

She snorts unwillingly. She knows what he's trying to do; he's trying to smooth over his misstep. But she's curious; Quinn admits defeat and turns back to him. "No," she says, and watches a triumphant look flit over his face.

Leroy smiles at her before launching into the story. "I was from Indiana, originally. In high school, I was scouted to play on Purdue's varsity team. Would've gone pro after graduating college, but I tore two ligaments in my knee in senior year." Leroy rubs his right knee. "My parents found out I was gay when they came to visit me in the hospital, and ran into my then-boyfriend there."

Quinn sucks in a breath.

"They didn't take it well. Neither did my ex, when he found out I'd been lying about having told them about him. And coming out," adds Leroy, almost as an afterthought.

"You lied about coming out to your parents?"

"I drove home one weekend to do it. Lost my nerve outside of their house." Leroy's mouth twists, expression bitter. "Went on a bender instead. He thought I'd gone ahead with it, and I was too cowardly to correct him."

"Oh."

"Anyway, the whole thing was a mess," says Leroy with a grimace. "My parents disowned me, the league scouts dropped the contract talks when they found out how bad my knee was. Luckily, my coach was from here, so he was able to use his connections to get me a job in the local force."

"My ex… he was offered a great job in Detroit, and he wasn't about to give that up to be tied down to an injured ex-footballer, living in a small homophobic Midwestern town. We fought, we broke up. I came here alone and tried to make the best of things. Until I ran into this short, nerdy, Jewish guy in Rays who was also reaching for the last bottle of Sriracha hot sauce."

Quinn smiles in spite of herself.

"What are the odds of meeting another single gay man in this small town, right? We got talking – I think he was trying to distract me so I'd let go of the bottle – and he inadvertently let slip that his ex-boyfriend normally does the shopping but they'd just broken up, and things kinda went from there." Leroy shrugs. "Hiram's parents are extremely supportive, though sometimes I wish I had the courage to go find my parents and show them what they missed out on. I wrote them a letter when Rachel was born; I never got a reply."

It hits uncomfortably close to home, and Quinn squirms. "I'm sorry."

He waves away her concern. "I brought up your mom, so we're even now," he says, giving her a wry smile. "Now, I think I'll leave you in peace." Leroy gets to his feet. "Dinner is in 30 minutes, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

The conversation over the Berry dinner table flows as it normally does, with one notable exception; Rachel has yet to say a single word to her.

Quinn doesn't understand why it's bothering her. Before today, she would've given anything for Rachel to leave her alone.

Perhaps it was something she said? Honestly, Quinn has no idea. She's been on her best behavior this entire time. Unless…

She chews on a forkful of whatever is on her plate, not even tasting the food. Rachel wanted her to keep the baby, but now that she has, Rachel isn't overflowing with enthusiasm and energy. Perhaps she wasn't expecting Quinn to do it. Perhaps she –

"Quinn?"

"Hmmmm?"

Leroy looks amused. "You must be enjoying that spaghetti immensely. I've had to call your name twice."

Belatedly, she realizes the conversation has stopped and everyone's attention is on her. Quinn feels her cheeks heat. "Oh. Sorry. I was… distracted."

"I could tell. Anyway, I was asking you if you wanted to go to school tomorrow. Given the circumstances."

Quinn waits for Rachel to chime in with some ridiculous statistic about teenage truancy. It doesn't come.

"Uh, no," she says, clearing her throat. "I want to stay home." She's a little unsure whether she needs the Berrys' approval; she's still a teenager, but she's also officially living here now. Technically, their roof, their rules; that's the way she was brought up.

The circumstances are complicated enough that it makes her head spin to think about it.

The Berry men exchange looks, before Hiram says mildly: "That's perfectly fine. It _is_ the last week of school before your summer holidays, after all."

"Quinn?"

Quinn glances over at Rachel, who wears a look of mild concern.

"Ordinarily, I would be supportive of your decisions given the change in your personal circumstances, but we have the surprise performance for Mr Schue after school tomorrow."

"Oh. Crap. Yeah, I completely forgot about that." She turns back to Hiram. "Sorry, but could you take her tomorrow?"

Hiram smiles. "Of course. There's no need to ask."

She's left feeling oddly disconcerted about the exchange.

* * *

Beth, for once, has decided to settle down; it's almost like she knows her future has been decided on, and that it's time to relax. That leaves Quinn plenty of time to be alone with her thoughts.

The most irritating thing is that she doesn't understand why she's so bothered by Rachel's lack of – well, Rachel-ness.

She doesn't even make it to an hour before she gives in. Quinn hovers outside Rachel's door for a while before knocking.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

The door swings open to reveal a very surprised-looking Rachel. "Quinn. Good evening. It's a surprise to see you here…"

"Why have you been ignoring me?"

Rachel looks fairly confused by the point-blank question. "Ignoring you? Quinn, I haven't been ignoring you."

"You've barely spoken to me since the hospital." Even as the words leave her mouth, Quinn is struck by the inanity of it. "I can't figure out what I did that finally made you shut up."

"I've been trying to give you space. You're always complaining that I won't leave you alone," Rachel explains. She sounds hurt.

It's a perfectly reasonable explanation, but Quinn can't accept it. "You're not ignoring me because I decided to keep her?"

"No! Of course not. I've been quite vocal – even by my standards – about my personal opinions this entire time, but I would never overstep my boundaries."

The more she speaks, the more Quinn wants to curl up into a ball and die of embarrassment. Her pride, however, refuses to let her concede gracefully. "Oh," she says, very articulately. "I… um, I appreciate it."

"I'm glad to hear that," says Rachel. She looks bewildered by the entire conversation. "I, too, appreciate how communicative you're being right now."

She nods dumbly. This was a bad idea; she needs to leave. Once in the safety of her room, she tells herself, she can sink into a pit of self-inflicted humiliation in peace. "I should go. Uh – check on the baby."

"Of course. Good night, Quinn."

She mumbles a reply and scurries down the hall, back into her room. Quinn allows herself a self-indulgent whine as she buries her face in her pillow. She's so bad at being nice to Rachel, and this complete humiliation is entirely her fault.

* * *

School, it turns out, is exactly what Quinn needed. A break from being inside her own head. A break from the Berrymen (which – if she's being honest with herself – she doesn't hate anymore) and their tendency to talk about everything.

In school, her reputation hovers between bitchy Cheerio and pregnant teen, meaning that most of the student body avoids her. Which Quinn appreciates.

Most importantly, Rachel has yet to speak to her after last night's fiasco.

She cuts the last period of the day to sit in the auditorium, waiting for the other Glee clubbers to file in for their surprise performance. Much to her surprise, Santana and Brittany appear not long after, sitting on either side of her.

"Aren't you two supposed to be in class?"

"Could say the same for you," replies Santana. "We won't tell if you won't."

Quinn purses her lips. "Do what you want. I'm not the hall monitor."

"I didn't want to be in English, I already speak it," says Brittany. "So San pretended we had important Cheerio business and totally got me out of class."

Brittany's unique outlook on the world never fails to amuse Quinn. "That's great, Britt. Santana making herself useful, for once."

"Speak for yourself. Looking good there, Fabray," says Santana, giving Quinn's borrowed clothes a once-over.

Quinn exhales. "Can we not do this right now?"

Santana holds both hands up. "Wow. Touchy, much? What's got your panties in a twist? Can't be the midge, she's been avoiding you all day." Her eyes widen. "No shit, is it the Puckerspawn?"

"Fuck off, Lopez." Tears prick at her eyes, for some reason.

Much to her surprise, Santana does back off. "No way. You're _actually_ keeping the kid?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not. I didn't mean to upset you."

"We don't always mean for shit to happen," replies Quinn bitterly, "but it happens anyway." Brittany pats her hand, resting her head on Quinn's shoulder. The gesture comforts her.

Santana sighs. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

"Fair enough." She sighs again. "Damn, Q."

"It'll work out," Brittany says. "Because it's you."

Quinn manages a smile. "Thanks, Britt."

"What's her name?"

"Beth."

"Cute."

The auditorium doors creak, and Rachel comes in. She pauses when she looks over in their direction, but she doesn't break her stride as she heads over to the stage.

Santana eyes her. "What, so everyone's cutting class now?"

Quinn ignores her.

Finn appears shortly after, and is dragged backstage by Rachel. Santana scoffs. "Figures." But she doesn't say anything else after that, and Brittany just holds Quinn's hand, her warmth soothing Quinn just as much as the silence does. She feels comforted, like she hasn't felt in a while.

Finn and Rachel don't reappear until the bell rings, and the rest of the club start trickling in. Matt, the next to arrive, quickly gets roped into arranging stools onstage with Finn, directed by Rachel. Despite the noise they are making, it's quiet up in Quinn's little bubble.

"You gonna tell them?" Santana's question cuts through the silence.

Quinn's gaze lingers on Finn. "I… I don't know."

"Hmm. Whatever you decide, we'll back you up," says Santana gruffly.

Quinn can't help herself; she stares at Santana.

"Don't look at me like that. The way _I_ see it," says Santana nonchalantly, "you need a new family 'cause your real one sucks. Glee's pretty fucking annoying, but they're the closest thing to a family that you've got. And that means us, too, I guess," she adds. "Like, we didn't sing all those songs for you and Finnessa just because Berry batted her eyelashes and asked, y'know."

She's spared from responding with the arrival of Kurt, the last to arrive, and Rachel waving at them to take their places, both hands over her head like she's directing a plane.

Santana can't resist a last snide, "That settles it; Berry can't do a thing without being overly fucking dramatic" before they join the rest of the club onstage.

* * *

She sits in the back of the choir room while Mr Schue sings for them. Quinn studiously avoids the longing glances Puck shoots at her throughout the song.

In their last conversation, she'd all but told him she was giving up the baby. She knows he'll take it as a slap in the face, that she wants their baby but not him, and that she didn't have the decency to tell him that. There is a part of her that is willing to be the heartless villain here, to let Puck hate her.

Quinn wonders when she'll finally finish dealing with all the consequences of her mistakes.

Once Mr Schue dismisses them, Puck comes over to her. "Hey."

"Puck…"

"So, I was hoping that I could come see her before you give her up," he says without waiting for her to finish.

Quinn grips the hem of her T-shirt tightly. "Can we… Puck, there's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" His expression changes rapidly. "Are you fucking me over again?"

Around them, the rest of the Glee club is gathering like storm clouds, sensitive to the next installment of drama. Quinn had hoped to make this as private as possible, but there's no chance of that happening now. She decides to stand her ground and pull the Band-Aid off in one tug. "I'm keeping the baby," she says, heart pounding. "I wanted you to know."

Puck's face darkens. "No way."

"I'm sorry."

"Save your fucking apologies. They never meant anything, did they?" He runs both hands over his head. "I thought we were good, Quinn; you and me, eating Sunday burgers like we used to. What happened to us? What did I do to deserve all this?"

"I don't know," Quinn says, tears pricking at her eyes, "but I'm sorry for all of it. I never wanted to hurt you, Puck."

"Yeah, well, fuck you too."

Santnaa and Brittany move forward to flank Quinn. "Back off, Puckerman."

His eyes flick from them, to Quinn. "They know? Everybody knows, huh? What, am I the fucking last person to know? Didn't even have the decency for that?"

"Puck."

"Save it. You're just screwing me over like you screwed Finn over. Last fucking thing I need right now." He shoulders past them, down the stairs, outside.

She's left in the room, uncomfortably aware of everyone's attention on her.

"That went well," says Santana. "At least he didn't throw a tantrum and kick over some chairs."

Finn frowns. "Hey!"

"If the shoe fits…"

"That's enough, Santana," interjects Mr Schue, then turns his attention to the rest of his Glee clubbers. "Everything alright, guys?"

"Yes, Mr Schue," Brittany answers for them.

He nods, looking unconvinced, but thankfully doesn't comment further.

"Wait, you're keeping the baby?" Finn pipes up. Rachel elbows him.

"Brilliant deduction, Hudson," says Santana, rolling her eyes.

Rachel sighs. She leaves Finn's side to stand beside Quinn. "Quinn, are you alright?"

She shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak. She's completely miserable; angry at Puck for making a big deal out of this, at herself for getting into this mess – which brings her back to Puck and his wine coolers.

"Quinn?"

"I need some air," she mumbles.

"Of course."

Rachel follows her out to their spot. It comes down to this, the both of them again, here in this little alcove. Maybe Quinn is doomed to repeat history until she does something right.

"Quinn, please say something. I'm beginning to worry."

"I'm just really, really sick of this." Quinn sits on the bench, her hands gripping the edge until she loses sensation in her fingers. "I'm just… when is it gonna end? When am I going to stop fucking things up?"

"You haven't messed things up," replies Rachel primly. She joins Quinn on the bench, her posture just as prim as her demeanor.

Quinn scoffs. "That was an unqualified disaster. He was already mad at me before; he'll probably never speak to me again."

"It is what it is."

Quinn turns her head to stare at her. "What?"

"What?" Rachel echoes.

"No opinions? No suggestions on how I could've done whatever it is better?" She isn't angry; just genuinely curious.

Rachel shrugs. "The past two weeks of cohabitation have been very educational with regards to how I should conduct myself."

She rolls her eyes, but can't suppress the little smile Rachel's remark elicits. "Too bad none of it has taught you to talk like a normal human being."

"There's always room for improvement." Rachel brushes away a wrinkle in her skirt. "I have another two years of high school left."

Quinn sighs. She tips her head back and stares up at the ceiling. "... Do you think I should've told him?"

"Told Noah what? That you were going to keep Beth?"

"Yeah." Quinn's tired of going round and round in circles. "He _is_ her father. He's half of her, no matter what. And a part of me still feels guilty for denying him that."

Rachel blinks rapidly. "While I would like to take this opportunity to restate that I've learned my lesson about meddling in other people's affairs… yes, I would have. He is still her father, and even if I wouldn't want him in her life, I would still want him to know. Besides," she adds, "Noah would've found out sooner or later anyway."

Quinn nods. She knows there could have been a better time or place to tell him, but it's done now, and that's one less thing on her mind.

"Honestly, I think you've been very brave," Rachel is saying now.

"Brave? Me? Did you even see what happened months ago?"

"Yes, but you persisted nonetheless. You are incredibly brave, Quinn Fabray, and you shouldn't downplay everything you're doing." Her phone chimes; Rachel reaches for it. Quinn settles in her seat, grateful for the distraction.

"Daddy will be here soon," says Rachel. "What do you say to ice cream to celebrate the end of a highly successful year, and another year of Glee?"

"Highly successful year…? Are you serious?"

"We went from not having a Glee club at all, to reaching Regionals; I would count that as a success."

"If I can not get pregnant again next year, I would count _that_ as a success," Quinn mutters dryly.

"... Are you teasing me, Quinn?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"You _are_ teasing me," concludes Rachel with a frown. "Oh my God, I couldn't tell. Despite our vastly improved relationship, my image of you as the beautiful but evil cheerleader stereotype persists."

Quinn doesn't bat an eyelid. "That's cold, Berry; I thought we were friends. Or something like that."

"We are. I was merely stating my former opinion of you. You're certainly more than the single throwaway line I was planning on giving you in my autobiography chapter about the trials and tribulations of my teenage years."

She has to ask. "So, what am I now in your biography?"

"It's only been a week since we redefined our relationship," Rachel informs her. "It's simply too early to tell, although I am very optimistic that it will be positive."

Quinn shakes her head. "You think I'm beautiful?"

Rachel stares at her, her scrutiny almost painful. "Of course. Aesthetically, it goes without saying; and as for your personality, now that we are friends I'm seeing more of your nicer side, which is much more pleasant than your Cheerio attitude, if I'm being frank."

It occurs to Quinn, then, that the entire pregnancy could have been avoided if she'd had a frank discussion with Rachel instead of letting Puck get her drunk. The thought makes her snort.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"It can't be nothing. Are you teasing me again? Is this some esoteric aspect of friendship that I was hitherto unaware of?"

"Quit while you're ahead, Berry," says Quinn. "Seriously."

* * *

Hiram gamely drops them off at the mall with a twenty-dollar bill for Rachel, and instructions to be back in the car in fifteen minutes "or your dad will suspect something".

"Is ice cream a crime?" Quinn asks innocently.

"Only if he doesn't get any," replies Hiram, and places his order for a double scoop of strawberry cheesecake. "Thanks, girls."

"Why didn't your dad come in with us?" asks Quinn as they head inside.

"Daddy hates parking at the mall, but loves ice cream," says Rachel. "We have an arrangement."

"Which has nothing to do with being a teenager at the mall with your dad?"

Rachel smiles suddenly. "Nothing at all."

Quinn shrugs, smiling back. "Rachel?"

"Yes, Quinn?"

"Thanks."

"While I do appreciate your expressions of gratitude, I would appreciate them even more if I knew what I have done to merit them."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "For taking my mind off everything." She hasn't thought about her life for a good half-hour at least. It feels good.

"Oh. You're very welcome."

She rounds a corner, feeling at peace with herself – optimistic about the future, even – and then it all goes to shit.

"Quinnie?"

"Mom?"

She looks exactly like the last time Quinn saw her.

"How… how are you?"

"Fine." The long-simmering anger in her belly has cooled to resentment. "Bye, Mom."

"Quinnie, wait."

"Wait? That's rich, Mom. I waited for you in the hospital. You said you'd kicked Dad out, and that you were gonna take me back in. I think I've waited plenty."

Judy Fabray looks like she is about to cry. "I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough. Unless you're still willing to take me and your granddaughter in."

"Granddaughter? You kept her?"

"Yeah. I couldn't give her up," says Quinn softly. "I know what it's like, being abandoned by family; I don't ever want _her_ to know what that feels like."

Judy recoils, as though she has been slapped. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"You and me both, Mom." Quinn's lip twists. "I'm pretty sure we don't have anything left to discuss?"

"Where are you staying?" Judy's eye falls on Rachel. "Aren't you one of Quinnie's school friends?"

"This is Rachel Berry; Beth and I are staying with her and her fathers," says Quinn with relish. The Berry household is an (in)famous one in Lima, and a popular subject of her father's rants. She reaches for Rachel's hand. "We have to go now. It was nice seeing you again, _Mom_."

Rachel barely has time to stammer out a "Bye, Mrs Fabray," before she lets Quinn drag her away.

She feels strong. Like she's in control, for once; and it feels _good._

"Quinn, slow down."

She does. "Sorry."

"No, don't apologize. You just confronted your mom. Are you okay?"

"I…" Now that she has the time to think about it, the shock catches up with her. "Ask me later."

Rachel laughs softly; Quinn, much to her surprise, follows suit.

"I did tell you you were braver than you think you are. I've always been a little psychic."

She sighs. "Sure you are, Rachel."

"Ah! You doubt me; I can see it in your eyes. But mark my words, I will prove to you the veracity of my prophecies."

"Now you're teasing me."

"Teasing? Quinn, I was being completely serious."

"Oh my God."


End file.
